July and December
by Chapin CSI
Summary: GS. Two months in the lives of GG and SS. CHOOSE THE ENDING, HAPPY OR SAD. Chapter 5: Unhappy ending. Chapters 6 to 8: Happy ending. Sara left on July 2004. NEW: Gil and Sara talk about their fears.
1. July 1998

JULY AND DECEMBER

Two months in the lives of Gil Grissom and Sara Sidle.

Spoilers: none

Store revised on Jan. 2007

* * *

Chapter one: JULY 1998

They hit it off from the beginning.

He was a renowned criminalist who had come to San Francisco to teach a seminar; she, a brilliant young woman aspiring to become a crime scene investigator. Quiet and cautious most of the time, both had nevertheless become fast friends in just a couple of days.

There was a significant age difference between them; and yet it made no difference because they had so much in common – mutual respect; a love of books and science, and a thirst of justice.

If she had been pressed to explain what she liked about him, she would have said that he was the first instructor who had answered her numerous questions without becoming exasperated.

If anyone had asked _him, he_ would have simply ignored the question, for he was a very private man. But deep down he would have known the answer: He had never met anyone like her. That first day, as Sara Sidle asked him question after question, Gil Grissom had come to a pleasant conclusion: This was going to be a very special seminar.

By the second day, the few hours they spent together at the lab weren't enough and they began to go out for long walks. They window-shopped and visited some points of interest, but mostly they talked. There was plenty to talk about –science, famous authors, theater, and books- and that was fortunate, since neither wanted to talk about their private lives.

In fact, this was one of the things he most liked about her. In the past, students –male and female- had approached him with questions about his work, but once they got close to him they ambushed him with questions about girlfriends and love interests, and that completely put him off. This time it was different. She was really interested in his work.

And yet… he'd been vaguely aware of a certain attraction between them that went beyond the realm of the mind. He was aware of her womanliness; he liked her smile and her eyes… But physical attraction wasn't as important as their intellectual connection.

Or so he told himself.

Later he would berate himself for not being more cautious, and for not foreseeing the complications that would arise.

She didn't analyze her feelings, although she was aware that he cared about her. For instance, when they stopped for dinner, he always insisted on super-sizing, even though he never ate much at night. He usually ended up with a doggie bag, which he casually gave to her when they parted.

By the third time he did this, she realized that he was feeding her.

She wasn't offended; he surely knew how hard it was to pay off student loans while trying to make a living out of a beginner's salary. He was being kind, and Sara hadn't met many kind men in her life.

* * *

The seminar came to a conclusion on a Friday.

They went out for their walk as usual, but this time they barely talked. Grissom could only think that their time together was winding down. They would still see each other at the closing ceremony on Saturday, but he was leaving right after that.

"There's something I wanted to show you," Sara said, interrupting his gloomy thoughts. She was motioning him to cross the street, and he knew where she was going. There was an antique shop that they liked to visit; there was always something new to admire there.

Grissom stood beside her and looked around.

"Look." Sara said, "There's a new collection."

"Bookmarks," he nodded, his attention drawn to the beautiful display.

"Yeah, but _look_." She insisted.

He dutifully did. The bookmarks were made from all kinds of materials –from paper and lace, to metal and bone- but what Sara meant was that they all had something in common: Insects. They were painted on, engraved, or delicately weaved in. This was one pricey collection.

She was specially enthusiastic about a silver bookmark that had a very realistic spider-and-web engraving, and he admitted that it was a very good likeness. He made comments about several of the insects represented, but he was distracted by one bookmark in particular: A beautiful silver bookmark delicately shaped as a butterfly.

He smiled to himself. That would make a wonderful parting gift. The idea of giving her something had crossed his mind before, but this was the first time he actually had a clue of what to give her.

* * *

He returned to the store the following day. Self-consciously, Grissom asked to see the butterfly bookmark –and he would never admit this aloud, but he felt as if it was a ring he was asking to see. And the guy behind the counter didn't make matters easier, for he said, "Ah, an excellent choice." as if he was presenting him with an expensive diamond and not a bookmark.

"Several people have shown an interest in it," the man added, "I can give you a good price-"

Grissom didn't want to bargain; he simply bought the bookmark and asked the guy to wrap it.

Feeling good with himself, Grissom returned to his hotel to get ready for the closing ceremony.

As he entered his room, his eye fell on his suitcase. He was returning to Las Vegas in just 6 hours. He was leaving San Francisco behind. He was leaving _her_ behind. He'd been so excited about buying her a gift, that he had pushed that fact to the back of his mind. Now he had to face facts.

He had always refused to examine his feelings for Sara; he had called his interest in her, 'friendship', and that had been enough. Even as he had lain in bed thinking of her, he hadn't admitted that he was falling in love.

He shook his head; he didn't want to think about it.

But later, as he was about to shave, he couldn't keep those thoughts from crowding his mind. When he looked at himself in the mirror, he wondered if Sara could really be interested in him.

Sometimes he thought she was; mostly, he refused to even consider the possibility.

As for his own feelings, he still didn't dare to put a name to them. Although 'love' was one word that often came to mind.

'_Maybe it isn't love_,' he kept telling himself. '_Maybe it's…_'

He just didn't know what it was; he couldn't compare this to other infatuations, because there were no other infatuations to compare it to. But he knew himself well enough to know that giving her this gift was a big deal. It was like a confession.

It was like baring his heart to her.

Grissom looked at himself figuratively and literally, and wondered if he knew what he was doing.

_I've never done this._

He wondered what would happen after he gave her the gift.

_What was the worst than could happen?_

His own answer to this was: _She'll take the gift without understanding what I'm trying to say._

He continued shaving.

Then another answer came up:

_The worst will be if she understands what I'm trying to say. Because then she'll have to do something about it- say something- say yes or no…_

Grissom leant over the sink and splashed cold water on his face, effectively quieting those thoughts. He didn't want to put doubts in his mind now.

------

He arrived early at the Auditorium. He had the bookmark –all wrapped up and tagged- in his pocket. He couldn't wait to give it to her and see her smile.

He hadn't planned on what to say when he gave her the bookmark. Instead, he'd let the gift speak for itself. Her reaction would give him a hint of what to say next.

Whatever she said would be like a door opening for him. Friendship or love… he'd accept it.

Grissom entered the auditorium and recognized her, even though she had her back to him. She was standing next to the podium, with a group of her classmates. Grissom eyed her appreciatively; she was wearing a knee-length skirt and she looked good.

He was wondering whether to approach the group or to call her out, when one of the men in the group put his arm around her waist and pulled her to him.

She leant into his embrace-

Grissom froze momentarily.

And then he stepped back. He paused at the door, not knowing what to do. But only for a few seconds.

Mechanically, he walked to the exit, and then to the street.

_And now, what? _He asked himself, feeling utterly foolish

--------

Grissom was checking out of the hotel when his cell phone rang.

"Dr. Grissom?"

Sara.

"Where are you?" she asked, "The ceremony's just begun…"

"Sara, hi." He said casually, "Can't make it, I'm afraid. I have to go back to Las Vegas."

"Oh, no-" She said, clearly disappointed, "Oh, Dr. Grissom-"

"Sorry."

"Where are you?"

"I'm at the airport." He lied.

"I wanted to-" she hesitated, "I hoped we'd have another chance to talk-"

"I gave you my e-mail address, didn't I?" He said, "Write whenever you need advice. Or call me. I'll be glad to hear from you."

"Are you leaving right away?" she asked, "Maybe I can see you before you leave. You know, to say goodbye in person-"

"I don't think that's possible, Sara. My plane leaves in ten minutes, so-" He paused, "Goodbye, Sara."

He regretted lying to her. His flight didn't leave for another four hours; they could have said goodbye in person, and he could have given her the bookmark. He could have told her that he considered her a friend.

But he couldn't face her. Next time they talked, he'd be ready to deal with her; but for now, he needed some time alone.

He'd get over her –eventually.

_It wasn't love. It didn't mean anything. _

He'd forget all about his momentary lapse of judgment.

_It was a gift of friendship, nothing more- _

He'd learned his lesson; he'd never make this mistake ever again.

"_Quoth the raven," _he muttered_, "Nevermore."_

------

TBC


	2. December 1998

JULY AND DECEMBER

Drama, romance

Through the years, two months brought changes into GG and SS's lives.

Spoiler: The accused is entitled.

Chapter two: DECEMBER 1998

Their friendship grew strong over the next months.

They talked on the phone whenever she needed to discuss something immediate, like a case; but they left the less urgent stuff for their Sunday morning chats. It was a cozy time for them; they simply logged on and it was like being on a hassle-free date. They talked about books and about their jobs, and sometimes one or the other would recount some film they had seen that week.

Usually, Grissom had already seen the movie she was talking about, but he didn't tell her. Reading her description of a film made him feel as if... as if they were watching the movie together. It was a little fantasy of his; as he read her words, he imagined that they were sitting side by side, sharing a bucket of popcorn and whispering their comments.

And yes, he _knew_ that it wasn't the same; he knew that chatting on line about a movie wasn't like having her by his side; he couldn't put his arm around her shoulders, after all.

But in his opinion, this was good too. Maybe better since, unlike some of the real-life couples that he observed at the movie halls, he and Sara never had to endure uncomfortable silences or misunderstandings; he and Sara might agree or not over a book or a movie, but at the end of their chat, their friendship was intact.

They had the best of relationships.

Not that he had completely forgotten his little infatuation. Sometimes, after one of their chats, he would stare ahead for a while, thinking how much he'd like to see her. Or he would come across the bookmark –despite his putting it in a drawer he rarely used- and then he would forget the document he'd been looking for, and he would stare at the little package and wonder what it might have been.

But not for long. Telling himself that he had no regrets, he always ended up putting the little package back in the drawer. He knew he had to find a better hiding place for that bookmark, but he always forgot.

Then on December, just a week before Christmas, Sara called him with news that were unexpected and thrilling.

"I'm in Vegas!" she said cheerfully. "I'm on my way to Florida, and the plane made a detour. They're not saying what for, but apparently we're picking up some Senator. I have two hours to spare, Dr. Grissom; I was wondering if I could see you-"

"Sure!" He said, ignoring the pile of documents waiting for his attention, and reaching for his car keys, "It'll take me an hour, to get there, ok? Traffic's brutal at this time of the day."

He drove as fast as he could. He hoped they'd have time for a nice, friendly chat-

_'Cause that's what we are, _he thought_. Friends; the best of them-_

_-----------_

When he saw her, he forgot all about being _friends_, and chatting seemed the last thing in his mind. Just looking at her put a goofy smile on his face, and he knew it.

They eagerly walked towards each other, but once they were face to face, they just couldn't find anything to say.

"Sara." He managed at last.

"Dr. Grissom." She said.

"Call me Grissom." He said.

"Oh. Ok."

They didn't shake hands. He knew –oh, he was sure- that if he touched her hand, he wouldn't be able to stop; he knew he would pull her into his arms and who knows what else he'd do.

He wisely kept his hands at his sides; but he stared at her, absorbing every detail. Her hair was shorter and curlier, and he liked the way it framed her lovely face. He also liked the creamy texture of her skin. It looked so soft and inviting, so, so-

A female voice interrupted his reverie.

"Dr. Grissom," it said, "Hello."

Grissom turned and saw a petite redhead he vaguely recognized.

"Hello -" he frowned, "It's Thompson, isn't it?" he said tentatively.

"Yes." She nodded with a smile, "I didn't think you'd recognize me. I wasn't your best student at the Seminar after all."

"Well, I do remember the grade I gave you." he said humorously. He looked from her to Sara, "You are both on vacation then?"

"Yeah," Thompson nodded, "Though this isn't just a vacation," she added, "At least, not for Sara-"

"Sandy," Sara interrupted.

"She's moving to Florida." Thompson finished.

"Oh." Grissom said, trying to keep a blank expression. "Are you, Sara?"

"I still haven't decided-" She said evasively.

"Oh, Sara, you know you will." Thompson turned to Grissom, "Her boyfriend moved there a couple of months ago,"

Grissom glanced at Sara, who was blushing and eyeing Thompson as if she'd love to stuff something in her friend's mouth.

Thompson didn't notice.

"Sara might be moving in with him soon." She was saying it deliberately, making him aware of the facts.

Grissom would always be proud of the way he handled the situation. He simply smiled, successfully masking his true feelings.

"It's a big decision, Sara." He said simply. "Will you still be working as a CSI?"

"Steve says he'll get her a job." Thompson said, and then she added. "Do you remember Steve Morris?"

_Ah, Steve, _Grissom silently scoffed; _the moron who was holding Sara that night_. Sure, he remembered the guy. Not the brightest student at the Seminar... not the worst either.

_Just not good enough for Sara-_

He abandoned that line of thought.

"Well, Sara-" he smiled, "Call me if you need a recommendation." He said helpfully.

"Steve says she can get any job she wants-" said Thompson, finally getting on Grissom's nerves.

"What about you, Thompson?" he said, "Are you also interested in a job there or are you just tagging along… as a third wheel?"

"As a _concerned friend_," she muttered, but she realized she wasn't welcome anymore, "I'll go get a magazine."

When Thompson left, Grissom turned to Sara.

"That's some big news." He said calmly.

"I haven't decided anything yet." She repeated.

"Well, think it over." He said quietly, "It's always good to establish a reputation before moving to another city."

"Yes," she nodded.

They looked at each other.

"Dr. Grissom," she said, "I -"

"Call me Grissom." He interrupted.

"Grissom." She said. "I… hum." She hesitated, "I'd like you to know that-"

"Sara," he interrupted, although he didn't say anything for a moment, "Look," he said at last, "no matter where you live, we'll always be friends. Ok?" he paused. "I mean, I hope so."

"Yes," she said eagerly, "Yes, Grissom, always."

They barely talked until her flight was announced. Then they shook hands and said goodbye.

A couple of days later, he got an e-mail from her: She was thinking of breaking up with Steve.

Grissom stared at the screen with mixed feelings. He was glad that she was breaking with that guy, but at the same time he didn't know how to deal with this. Personal stuff was just outside his… his jurisdiction, so to speak. Anything he said or didn't say would matter to her, probably more than it should-

But something else bothered him. Their encounter at the airport had taught him that his infatuation wasn't as one-sided as he had thought at first. Even Thompson had realized this; she had clearly tried to sabotage their encounter.

Sara had a crush on him.

Grissom stared at the words on the screen. He tentatively wrote,

'Dear Sara: If you're not happy with this guy, then maybe -'

_Maybe, what? Maybe you'd like to be with an older man like me?_

He shook his head.

He wasn't up to his. What the hell did he know about romance and love? Sara deserved a nice, normal relationship; with Steve –well no, not with Steve; but there would always be someone else out there.

What he and Sara had was perfect. They admired each other, they had affection for each other… Why would he exchange her admiration for the disappointment that his clumsy attempts at romance would bring? Even Thompson knew that her friend shouldn't be chasing after an older guy.

He deleted his first response, and instead he wrote,

'_Dear Sara: Relationships are hard to keep in our line of work. If you find someone who tolerates the bad hours and the stigma of working at CSI, then you shouldn't let go so easily._

_Me, I've just given up on relationships. I've come to realize that friendships are more rewarding and more deserving of nurturing. I wouldn't exchange a good friendship for anything else. '_

He felt he'd been clear enough.

When she wrote back, she told him that she had broken up with her boyfriend, and that she wanted to concentrate on her career in San Francisco. And as a P.S., she asked him to give her a chance if there ever was an opening in Las Vegas.

He said he would.

And eventually, he did.

He'd had initial misgivings, but in time he warmed up to the idea of bringing her to Las Vegas. He'd watch over her, help her grow as an investigator. And her presence would be comforting.

Friendship, simple and perfect.

Over the years, whenever Grissom had a bad date -and all of them were bad- he would always think, 'wow, at least it wasn't Sara.' The thought of seeing Sara walking away from him in anger or disappointment over a failed romance, was too devastating to contemplate.

In his mind, their unspoken no-romance agreement was the best they had done for each other.

At least, until he found out about her affair with Hank Pedigrew. Grissom momentarily reacted as if she had betrayed him. It really took him a while to realize that he had no claims over her, but it was clear that their perfect friendship would never be the same. The tenuous balance that had kept them at a safe distance had been broken.

TBC


	3. July 2004 The Picnic

JULY AND DECEMBER

Spoilers: Butterflied, Bloodlines

Angst alert! Drama, romance.

* * *

Third Chapter: JULY 2004

Grissom was on the bleachers, watching as the CSI day shift crew beat the hell out of the guys from his shift. He shook his head. Not for the first time today he wished he were younger, so he could be out there doing SOMETHING, instead of simply witnessing the carnage.

He was relieved when his phone rang. Maybe there was a break in one of his cases…or maybe someone had found a dead body somewhere; a nicely bloated dead body covered with _maggots_, so the cops asked for an Entomologist's immediate presence -

"Grissom." He answered promptly.

"It's me," Catherine said, "And before you ask, no, there's no need for you to come to the lab. I just wanted to know how the guys are doing-"

"Badly."

"You're not doing your job, then!" she chided, "You're supposed to give them a pep talk, Grissom!"

"I'm trying." He said, and then he added, "Maybe you could do a better job than me-"

"Oh, save it." She interrupted, "I'm not going anywhere near that park, Grissom. We agreed, remember? I'd cover for you today so I could have Friday off. I really want to do this for Lindsay, ok? Besides," she added, "this is your chance to get close to your _friends_ in the PD, AND to celebrate like a good patriot-"

"Hey, I do my patriotic duty every day -" he scowled, "spending a whole day at the park is just a waste of my time-"

"Oh, just take it like a man." She said dryly, and hung up

Grissom sighed. He'd been taking it like a man since early in the morning and he was fed up.

He didn't like to socialize with his colleagues. Watching a game was all right, he had done it a couple of times in the last two years; but spending a whole day with members of the Police Department or Ecklie's people… that was harder to take.

And when he thought of all the things he could do on a free day… He wistfully thought of the Body Farm, waiting for him to unravel its secrets; he also thought of the ever-growing pile of books he had meant to read for a long, long time. Anything was better than attending the LVPD annual 4th of July picnic.

But as a CSI Supervisor he had a duty to his colleagues, and he had promised to be there for every competition. What he didn't know was that the picnic was really a day-long affair; they were giving everybody a chance to take part in it, no matter how early or how late their shifts ended.

Part of the problem for Grissom was that he felt out of place; he even _looked_ out of place. He was wearing a roomy t-shirt and roomy jeans, just the right clothes for this event, or so he thought at first. After all, who would expect a science geek to look like a gym rat? Years ago, a geek was a geek in every aspect.

Not any more.

It turned out that even geeks worked out nowadays. He'd spent the day feeling self-conscious, and resisting everybody's pressure to take part in the sport competitions. No way was he going to make a fool of himself by running around like a headless chicken while people around him booed or cheered up.

He smiled. He _had_ taken part in one competition: arm wrestling. He'd won, although Nick and Warrick's refusal to participate had probably helped.

He'd received his little trophy amid the cheers of his crew and boos from the rest, and after enduring this brief moment in the spotlight, he'd stepped away.

"Hey, Grissom," Ecklie called out from afar, interrupting his musings, "Your guys stink!"

_Oh, really_, thought Grissom.

After the game, Grissom went to the picnic area and sat down to eat. He kept glancing at his watch. Five o'clock. He'd leave at five-thirty, he decided; he'd been there long enough-

"Planning your escape, Gil?"

Grissom looked up. Brass was there, smiling knowingly. He had a hot dog in one hand and a soda can in the other. Grissom scowled.

"Why is it that I always get emergency calls when I'm off-shift, but none when I really need them?"

"Hey, beats me." He chuckled, sitting down beside his friend. "But if you miss the job, there's something I've been meaning to ask you about that corpse we found last night-"

Brass began to discuss one of their current cases, and Grissom listened attentively. Suddenly, there was an announcement shouted through the speakers.

"GET YOUR PARTNERS, BOYS AND GIRLS! LAS VEGAS POLICE DEPARTMENT IS PROUD TO INTRODUCE ITS OWN BAND, THE DANCING TRIGGERS!"

_Uh, oh_, Gil thought. _Dancing._

Now he _definitely_ had to leave.

"I think I better get going." he muttered, rising from his seat.

"You're just escaping before the dance starts." Brass chuckled, "Hey, I don't blame you. There's always some chick who thinks she can make Gil Grissom melt. Remember a few years ago, when that blonde cop kept following you?" he chuckled, "You looked like a deer about to be hit by a trailer-"

"That cop was drunk," Grissom said, "It wasn't her fault-"

"Look, don't leave just yet. At least let me tell you what the witness said-"

Grissom sat again and tried to listen, but his attention wandered.

He was looking for _her_.

It wasn't the first time he'd done it that day. He was definitely NOT keeping tabs on her; it's just that she was having fun, and he wanted to see every minute of it.

And he'd been lucky. All day long, he had instinctively known _where_ to look in order to see Sara -even in the crowds. Or maybe it wasn't luck, but the fact that she simply was hard to miss. Tall and slender, pretty, so full of life…

There were moments when he had avoided looking at her -mostly, when she talked to other cops. But trying to ignore her only made him more aware of her actions.

And somehow, she had seemed to _know_ that he was looking at her. Every time his gaze wandered in Sara's direction, she'd look up too. And every time their glances met, she'd waved and smiled.

Seeing that smile had made it worthwhile to be at the picnic. Sara had had a great time, she hadn't touched the beer, and she had won a race.

Grissom smiled faintly as he remembered her moment of triumph. Not only had she won the 200 Mt. race, she had defeated the day shift's best runner. Greg, Warrick and Nick had celebrated big time; Nick had even swept her off her feet, proclaiming her their heroine.

Grissom had watched all this from the bleachers, and that last little scene had been imprinted in his mind. She had laughed out loud as Nick twirled with her in his arms…

Grissom's attention was drawn back to the present as a new song begun. It was a fast version of an old song from Santana, something about a black magic woman. He looked at the clearing just beyond the picnic area, were several couples were clumsily dancing.

And there she was.

Sara was dancing with Warrick, who was anything but clumsy. Warrick smiled as he patiently taught her the steps, and she nervously followed his instructions – glancing down now and then, probably to avoid stepping on his feet. She was a quick learner, and by the time the song ended, she was dancing confidently.

She was a joy to watch.

Then the next song started, and it was a slow, romantic tune. Warrick reached for Sara's hand again, but before he took it, a female cop approached Warrick and asked him to dance.

Sara smiled good-naturedly and let him go. She watched the couples for a moment, and then all of a sudden, she turned and looked directly at the area where Grissom's table was.

He froze. She was at the farther end of the dancing area but he knew- he was sure that she was looking at him. And suddenly, he saw her move in his direction; slowly, but with determination.

Grissom felt his heart beat faster. She was coming his way; she was going to ask him to dance, he was sure of it-

_What are you going to do?_

Before he could answer his own question, he saw an EMT appear out of nowhere and cut into her path. Grissom knew this guy; he a had worked with Sara during a recent case, a multiple car collision.

He saw Sara smile as she recognized the guy.

Abruptly, Grissom rose from his seat.

"Hey, Brass?" he said, interrupting his friend, "Gotta go."

"Oh, ok." Brass said distractedly, watching his friend rise to leave, "Hey, can I have your fries?" he called out, but Grissom didn't turn.

* * *

Sara had tried to let down this guy as nicely as she could, but he didn't understand her hints soon enough. By the time she reached Grissom's table, he was nowhere in sight. She turned to Brass. 

"Where's Grissom?"

"Gone." Brass said, pointing at a spot behind him in the woods.

"That's the hiking trail." She frowned.

"Hey, it was the closest trail." He shrugged.

Grissom's intention had been to go to the parking lot, but he had taken the wrong path. He closed his eyes, feeling foolish. Hiking was something he had meant to do many times, but he wasn't up to it today. Maybe next time he had a free day, he thought cynically. At that moment, all he wanted was to go home. He couldn't wait to put this damn day behind.

He was about to turn back when he heard footsteps. And a familiar voice.

"Grissom?"

Sara.

Grissom closed his eyes. He didn't want to see her right now. He needed time to compose himself before he could face her, but he was trapped. He took a deep breath.

By the time she appeared, he was casually leaning against a tree.

"Hey." She smiled when she saw him, "I thought you were going back to the lab."

"Not yet." He said.

She looked around curiously.

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm-" _I'm lost_, he was going to say but stopped in time. "The crowd got to me," he said instead, "I needed some quiet time." _Alone_. He didn't say it, but it was implicit.

She didn't take the hint. She simply walked to him, slowly- _Seductively_, his mind added. There was a quiet determination about her that disturbed him. It was as if she had made some decision and nothing was going to make her change her mind.

He stared at her. She was wearing a tight, black t-shirt, jeans, and her trusty combat boots. Now that she was closer, he studied her face; devoid of make up, her freckles and little blemishes stood out in her pale skin. She looked young- too young.

Grissom crossed his arms, and Sara smiled faintly. She knew he was trying to protect himself. And yet, he had nothing to be afraid of. She was sure she could help him see that. She was about to say so when something shiny in his hand caught her attention. She smiled. He was still clutching his little trophy.

"Hey, you beat all those guys from the PD," she said, "You did great."

"So did you," he said gently.

"Yes," she admitted with a smile, "You helped, though. When I heard you cheering me on, I knew I had to do my best."

Grissom didn't comment. Yes, he had cheered her on, and he had applauded harder than anybody else. But she had helped _him_ too. He'd never admit this, but when he was arm wrestling that last guy from the PD, _her_ cheers had encouraged him to make an extra effort to win the match.

She took another step towards him. She was quietly invading his personal space, and Grissom knew he had to do something about it.

But he didn't move.

"I didn't know you were so strong." She said softly.

"Shouldn't you go back to the dance floor, Sara?" Grissom said quietly, "That EMT must be waiting."

It was the wrong thing to say, he immediately realized. Her eyes widened in surprise; she opened her mouth but she didn't say anything. She smiled instead.

Grissom lowered his gaze, but it was too late- she _knew_. He was jealous; she knew it and he knew that she knew.

Her smiled blossomed.

"Would _you _like to dance, Grissom?"

"No." He said, as if the thought amused him.

"Why not?" she asked.

"I don't dance" he said in a slightly patronizing tone.

"I could teach you." She offered. She tentatively put a hand on his arm and looked up expectantly. He gradually lost his smile. She was so close he could smell her scent. Apples. She smelled of apples and flowers. "It's easy," she said, gently tugging on his arm, "And you're a quick learner," She added, "Aren't you?"

Enthralled by her determination, she let her uncross his arms.

"You only have to put your right arm around me," she explained, as she positioned him for dancing, "And then you take my hand in yours-"

"Sara-"

"-and we press our cheeks together-"

He pulled slightly back to look at her.

"Sara." he said more firmly.

"Yes, Gil?" she asked.

She had never called him by his first name, and he couldn't believe the effect it had on him.

"This is a bad idea." He said, slowly releasing her. He would have stepped away, but she had practically trapped him against the tree.

"It's all right, Gil." She said patiently. "It is, really." She smiled encouragingly, "All day I've felt something going on… Something like a connection between us. Didn't you feel it too?" she looked earnestly into his eyes, "Everything we did today has led us to this moment, and I... I don't want to let it go." she said softly, "I want to do something about it… Something nice, like dancing. Or talking, or simply staying toge-"

"I don't want to dance, Sara." He interrupted.

She cocked her head curiously.

"What do you want, then?"

"I don't want anything." He frowned.

"Liar." She said curtly.

"Excuse me?" he frowned.

Sara smiled faintly. She had chosen the perfect word to rattle him. She took a deep breath.

"You're _lying_." She said, firmly, "You _want _things; you're just afraid of reaching out for them." She waited for these words to sink in, "I know, Gil. I -I _heard you._" She added, a little afraid of the effect that her next words might have on him, "You said you'd never really lived and that you'd let your job consume you-"

Grissom frowned as if he couldn't place those words, and Sara finished.

"You said that the only people you ever touched were the dead bodies at the Morgue-"

He looked up.

"You were there-" he said more to himself than to her.

"Yes."

"You weren't supposed to be there." He said incredulously, "You shouldn't have listened-"

"But I did." She replied, "And I'm glad," she said, "Because I can do something about it. I mean- We can't go on like this, Grissom. We've been wasting our time, and I don't want to do that anymore." she cautiously reached out until she touched his face. "I'm _alive_," She said softly, "And you can touch _me_."

He stared at her. Her hand felt warm on his face…He resisted the urge to lean into her touch.

"It's not so simple-" he said calmly.

"It is, if you want." She said quietly. She rubbed his cheek, smiling encouragingly.

"Sara…" he started. He took a deep breath, "What I said that day... Maybe I do regret the things that I never had or never did, but it's ok. My life is settled. You, on the other hand-" He paused. "You want love and companionship, and that's fine. Go out there and find it," he said glancing towards the picnic area.

"_I_'ve already found it," she said meaningfully.

"Sara," he hesitated, "You _know_ how I feel about this. I… I'll never -" he struggled to find the words; "I have nothing to offer you. You should find someone who's willing to open his heart to you-" He looked at her, "I can't do that."

"Then I'll open _my_ heart to you-" She said, and she kissed him softly on the lips. She pulled back, just enough to assess his reaction. He was staring at her, wide eyed, and utterly shocked at what she had just done. They had kept each other at arm's length for years, and now all of a sudden she was taking her interest in him a step further.

Before he could say anything, she put her hands on both sides of his face and gently pressed her lips on his again; and then...

He froze when her lips opened for a passionate kiss. She'd never been this bold; she'd never done anything, not really. Sure, she had disturbed his orderly world before, but only with _words. _This… This was too much. Suddenly all he was aware of were her mouth and her body pressed against his, and her hands, warm and soft on his neck.

She was doing all the things he had barely dared to dream of, much less act upon… He couldn't resist. He leant into her embrace, letting those dreams take over reality.

For a few seconds, his imagination took him beyond this park. Suddenly he saw both of them entwined under a crisp sheet, selflessly giving and receiving everything; oh, and kissing. He was sure he'd never be able to look at Sara's mouth without wanting to kiss her. Or look at her without _wanting_ her. He wanted to surrender to the sweet heat of her body, and he wanted to do anything she asked- He'd give it all, and then-

He was losing control, and the realization hit him hard. He turned his face away, abruptly ending the kiss. Sara didn't mind; she simply leant breathlessly against him, her hands tenderly caressing his face.

Grissom closed his eyes. His life was in his hands at that moment, and he could simply hand it over to Sara, or he could hold back.

_Dreams were beautiful, but they don't last. _

Grissom opened his eyes. After a moment, he slowly grasped her hands away and held them together in his.

"Gil?" she asked softly.

He looked at her, avoiding the sight of her reddish lips.

"I can't do this."

"What?"

She tried to touch his face, but he held her wrists securely.

"Grissom-"

"I told you." He said, looking at her, "I don't want anything. I _wanted_ this once; a long time ago," he admitted, "Just not anymore."

She opened her mouth but no words came.

She tried again.

"You have feelings for me." She said at last. "You _know_ you do."

Grissom shook his head.

"It doesn't matter. I just can't do this."

"Grissom-" She whispered. "If you're afraid- I understand; I'm afraid too. But I love-"

He scoffed softly, effectively interrupting her.

"Sara," he sighed tiredly, "Do you think _love_ changes things for the better?" he asked. "Do you think this is some sort of fairy-tale where _love_ will suddenly transform me?" he lowered his voice, "Do you think _I_ can make you happy? Sara, I can barely deal with my own troubles; I can't deal with yours too."

"I don't want you to deal with-"

"Do you think I can give you a home?" he challenged, "Or fill the void left by every male who's ever hurt you, starting with your dad?" He said brutally, "He was a mess, wasn't he? Do you think _I_ can give you the home he never gave you?"

She flushed.

"That's- that's not what this is about," she stammered. She stared at him as if she were seeing him for the very first time in a long time, "Is this how you see me?" she demanded. "Do you think I need a substitute, or someone to save me?"

She vehemently shook her head, "I don't, Grissom. That's not what I need from you-" She paused, trying to calm down. She looked pleadingly at him, "Why can't you just take what I'm offering you?"

He looked at her.

"Because…" he started, "Because all I want from you is friendship." He said, "I've never asked anything else."

Her first impulse was to deny that, but when she looked for the evidence to support her words… she couldn't find any. All she could remember were the times he had rejected he advances.

Even a while ago, while they kissed… it wasn't what he wanted.

"You're right." she said finally, "You've never asked."

Grissom saw the hope and the love in her eyes die as she said this.

He braced himself for an angry outburst. He thought she would say something like 'fine' and stomp away; or that she would mutter 'see you around,' which was what she always said when he disappointed her.

She didn't do any of this.

To his surprise, she simply looked at him as if she were mourning some big loss. And it was then that he realized how much he had hurt her.

"I'm sorry." He said softly, "I just don't want to ruin what we have-"

"It's ok." She said, and she tried to pull away. He didn't let go of her wrists.

"Please, Sara; try to understand-"

"Let me go." She whispered, "I -I have to- I have-" the corners of her mouth turned down, as if she was going to cry. She recovered quickly, "I have work to do-"

She was barely holding it together and she knew that if she stayed any longer, she was going to cry or to plead… and she didn't want to do that. Neither did he. He let go of her, and he watched as she turned and walked away, fast -as fast as she could.

Sara managed to cross the picnic area without talking to anybody, but by the time she reached her car she was shaking so badly that she had a hard time trying to fit her car key into the slot.

Once inside her car, her first impulse was to get the hell out of there and drive home as fast as she could. She forced herself to wait. She couldn't drive like that. If she did, she'd probably end up smashing her car somewhere along the highway.

She grabbed the steering wheel and took several deep breaths trying to quiet down.

"Don't cry," she whispered, "Don't cry, don't cry-" She'd used those words as a mantra when she was a kid-

The thought reminded her of his words. 'Your dad was a mess'.

She started to cry, and she was angry at herself for being so weak; she'd never cried like this, not even when she was a kid. Nothing had affected little, skinny Sara Sidle; she was stoic, she was strong, she could take care of herself- But tonight her heart had been broken.

"Get a hold of yourself." She whispered after a while. "Get a hold of yourself."

She took a deep, shaky breath. "You'll be ok," she said aloud, and she hated the way she sounded; like a hurt little kid. "You'll be ok."

Crying had helped. Her hands weren't shaking anymore; her eyes hurt a little, but she was sure she could drive. She needed to go home, and she was going to do it safely. She had always taken care of herself. She didn't need anyone.

* * *

TBC

Note:

Thank you for reading! Thank you for reviewing!

By the way…I'm writing two endings for this story, a happy one, and a very unhappy one, (because I think Grissom should face the consequences of his acts).

TBC


	4. July 2004 The day after

JULY AND DECEMBER

July 2004: The day after

Thank you for your encouraging reviews!

* * *

Grissom stared at report that lay open on his desk, suddenly aware that he had been reading the same paragraph for ten minutes now. He just couldn't concentrate. The night shift was about to start, and the thought of meeting Sara filled him with dread. After what happened the night before, he didn't really know what to expect from her. She was bound to be angry – actually, he _hoped_ she would be; anger was one feeling he knew how to deal with.

But the last time he saw Sara, it wasn't anger but sadness that was plain in her face. Grissom sighed. He hoped she wouldn't be sad anymore. Or hurt. Still, he knew that no matter what her feelings were today, things were irrevocably changed between them now... and he regretted that more than anything.

He wished -and not for the first time - that they could simply say, 'Let's forget it.' But he didn't know if she would. She was probably going to come and say, 'we need to talk', and then...

He shook his head; he didn't want to talk about it; he'd rather forget yesterday- the whole wretched day. And the night, too. Grissom cringed as he recalled what he had done the night before: He had practically stalked Sara.

First, he'd followed her to the parking lot; then he'd followed her home, driving close behind, making sure that she was ok. Then he'd waited outside her building until she left for work. It was only then that he stopped worrying so much. At least, she wouldn't be alone at the lab.

Grissom leant back in his seat and closed his eyes. He wanted to forget all that, and he would. Eventually. Not yet-

"Hey."

Grissom opened his eyes, and took a second to compose himself before turning to her. Sara was standing at the door, respectfully waiting for him to ask her in.

"Hey, Sara." He greeted hoarsely.

"Can I talk to you?"

"Of course." He nodded, motioning her to enter and sit.

Sara came in; she was carrying some books and a couple of folders, and she put these on a corner of his desk.

"Are you ok?" he asked.

"Sure." she said with a faint smile.

He studied her. She looked a little pale and fragile, but otherwise she looked fine. She didn't look angry, or sad... but she wasn't completely at ease either: She was nervously bending the corner of one of her folders, and she was apparently having a hard time finding what to say.

Grissom found her silence unnerving.

"Sara," he started, "About last night-

She smiled faintly.

"You never used clichés before." She gently chided, "Don't start now."

"I was going to say that I'm sorry-" he said.

She acknowledged his words with a brief nod.

"What you said about my father-" she started.

Grissom was surprised that she wanted to talk about that.

"Sara," he interrupted, "I shouldn't have mentioned him -"

"But you did." She replied inexpressively, "Who told you?"

"No one" he said, "A couple of years ago, I researched your name and-" he paused when he saw her eyes widening, "I was worried about you." he explained.

"Why?" she frowned.

"Because there are certain cases that you just take too hard, Sara; I wanted to know if you'd ever been a victim-"

"You could have asked me-" she interrupted, "I could have saved you time and resources."

"You're right," he said gently, "I could have. But you wouldn't have told me."

She didn't argue.

"So." She said bitterly, "What did you find out about me?"

"Not much," he said slowly, "Nothing concrete, I guess."

"I wasn't a victim of sexual abuse," she said unemotionally, "but I witnessed it, and that was bad enough." She didn't add anything else. She clearly didn't want to talk about _that._ "And yeah, my father was a mess." She added.

"He drank; he lost jobs, he lost our home, and for a while he lost us too." she said matter-of-factly, although she faltered a little at the end, "_That_ put a scare on him." she paused, "In time, he found religion, he stopped drinking, and he got us back," she looked up. "End of story."

"He lost you for quite a while." He said softly, knowing that the story didn't end just like that.

"Can I tell you something stupid?" She asked, "I liked him more as a drunk" she said softly, "at least he was happy." She kept her gaze on him, "Anything else you want to know?" she asked.

"No." he said patiently. "No, Sara."

"Ok." She said. She held his gaze for a moment, and then she looked down. She took a deep breath, "Then it's my turn to apologize for last night."

"You don't have to-"

"Please," she said softly, "I need to do this." she looked up, "Although I really don't know what to say. 'Sorry' isn't enough, is it?" she smiled sheepishly, "I mean, you're such a very private person and there I was, invading your personal space and your body-"

She looked down, "A part of me will never regret it, Grissom," she confessed quietly, "_I_ don't regret trying to love you." She paused, "But I know that I've ruined things between us, and- it wasn't my intention-"

"I know that-"

"I've been asking myself why I did it, you know? So many questions: Why did I fall in love, why couldn't I keep it to myself, why did I pursue you - even though you didn't encourage me-"

"I never said 'no'." he said softly, "I should have said _no_ and I didn't."

"You didn't want to hurt my feelings." She said kindly, "You were just hoping it would go away."

She looked at him, but he didn't say anything.

"So," she continued, "Last night, I was asking myself all those questions, and after hours of wondering, there was only one possible answer, 'how could I not?'"

She looked at him, and for a moment Grissom thought she was expecting him to answer. Fortunately for him, she was not.

"I'd never met anybody like you." She said, "You were handsome and knowledgeable and you seemed to care about what my aspirations. You treated me like your equal, Grissom; that alone meant everything to me. But, hum." she hesitated, "There was something else. There –hum- there were moments when you looked at me as if…" she took a deep breath, "You made me feel pretty, Grissom."

This admission embarrassed her. She smiled a little. "Can you imagine, being this shallow?" she asked. Then she lowered her voice, "It's _not_ something I'm proud of, so let's keep it between us, ok?"

He looked appalled

"Sara, I'd never -"

"I'm joking, Grissom." she said gently, "I know you'd never tell."

Grissom didn't know what to say. He wished he could comfort her, reassure her somehow. He tentatively reached for her hand, but a memory made him stop. He wished that taking someone's hand didn't mean so much that _not _doing it was really for the best.

He put his hands flat on the desk.

"Sara, you…" he cleared his throat, "you deserve everything; you deserve to be _loved_. You deserve to have a home -a real one- a haven to go to after work. I _wish_ I could give it to you." He looked up. "If I were different-"

She smiled bitterly.

"If you were different, I wouldn't have loved you."

He looked at her with something that looked like compassion.

"Sara, did you really believe _I_ could make you happy?"

She mused on this for a moment.

"I don't know…" she said at last, "I guess… I guess I was never concerned about my own happiness… All this time I've only thought of what I could do for you."

He wished she would stop saying these things. Every word of hers felt like a stab in his chest..

"I've just realized something." She said, suddenly. When Grissom looked up, she said, "You were right last night; you said that I was living some sort of fairy tale-"

"Sara," he cringed, "I shouldn't have said that-"

"But it's true." She said, amazed at her own discovery, "I've just realized that I _have_ been living a fairy tale; you know, the sort of tale where the hero defeats dragons and sorcerers in order to save his beloved. Except that I never- I never expected you to save _me_, Grissom. I think my fantasy was to rescue _you_…"

She smiled briefly, as if her words amused her, "_I_ was the dragon slayer. _I_ was going to risk it all in my quest for you…" her eyes filled with tears but she didn't seem to notice, "I was going to climb the tower you were imprisoned in, and then I was going to wake you up with a kiss." A single tear rolled down her face and she brushed it off impatiently.

It took her a moment to compose herself. "It was just a stupid fantasy, I guess," she said. "But you know something?" she asked, looking at him, "I would have made you happy."

Her words moved him.

"Sara," he said hoarsely, "it's not that I don't-" he started. He didn't say it, but she knew what he meant.

"I know." She nodded.

"This job- It's all I know." he said quietly, "It's all I'm used to. I can't risk-"

"I know." She repeated, "I understand, Grissom," she said kindly, "But it's heartbreaking nonetheless."

Grissom desperately wanted to say something that could make it up to her… but he couldn't think of anything. All that remained were things to _do_, and he wasn't ready- he would never be.

"Grissom" she said," I've thought hard about this, and…" she took one of the folders she had brought with her and placed it in front of him. Grissom's heart pounded faster. He knew what this meant.

"Don't do this."

"I can't stay, Grissom." She said, "Not after what happened-"

"Nothing's happened-" Grissom argued, "You can't let this ruin our working relationship-"

"It's already ruined." she replied, "_I_ ruined it, Grissom. All I can do is try to salvage something out of this." She reached out and opened the folder for him, "The FBI has been courting me for years, and I've decided to accept their offer-"

Grissom ignored the folder and its contents.

"The _FBI_?" he said incredulously, "After all we've gone through with those guys, you still want to work for them? Look, you need some space and I understand that; but you don't have to leave, Sara. I'll talk to Ecklie; he'll be glad to have you in his team-"

"Ecklie?" she scoffed, "You want me to work with _Ecklie_?-"

"It wouldn't be for long; just until you sort things out-"

"There's nothing to sort out."

"You can't leave." He said firmly.

"I can't stay," She insisted, "You know I can't. Things have changed now. After all I said and did yesterday-" she gulped, "I don't think we'll be able to get past that. I know _I _can't." she looked into his eyes, "Not after kissing you." she said softly, "Now I know things about you, Grissom; I know what your mouth tastes like; I know that deep down you're _hungry_ -"

She looked away, "I don't think you'll ever forgive me for this. I don't think you'll even want me to work beside you." She lowered her voice, "And even if you did... It wouldn't be the same."

Grissom looked down. He didn't want to look at her Request, but the option was to look at her, and that was harder. He looked at the sheet of paper and he froze. He couldn't believe his eyes: It wasn't a Request of Leave of Absence; it was a letter of resignation.

"Sara, I-" he started.

"I'll stay until you find a replacement." She offered.

"-I can't accept this."

"I want to work for them, Grissom. I know I can make a difference-"

"They won't appreciate you," he argued, "It'll be years before you get a promotion-"

She smiled bitterly when he said this.

"That's ok." She said calmly, "I've waited years for things I didn't get and I don't regret it-" She said pointedly. "-I _don't _regret it, Grissom." She repeated, but her lips trembled a little and she had to make an effort to keep calm. "But if I stay, I will. If I stay, I'll be angry at you and -"

"I can't accept this letter-" Grissom insisted.

"Please, Grissom." She pleaded, "Look, I'm going to leave anyway and it would be nice if you gave me your blessing."

Grissom scoffed. Anger was slowly replacing the hurt.

"You've always found it easy to leave." He said.

"What else can I do?" she asked and this time she waited for him to answer.

"Sara…" he couldn't find the words, "All I wanted was to have you here."

"I know." She said with difficulty, "I loved being here, Grissom but it's just not enough anymore. You see me at a distance and you sign my overtime sheets, and you ask me to call you Grissom instead of Dr. Grissom, and that's as all I'll ever get from you. It's enough for you, and it was enough for me at a time. Not anymore."

"We need to _grow_ up, Grissom." She said seriously, "_You _need to stop being afraid… And I need to stop acting like a teen with her first crush." She reddened, "We're bad for each other, Grissom. As long as we're close, we'll never move on. But if I leave, the conflict will cease to exist. In time, we'll feel free to love somebody else."

She looked earnestly at him, "Isn't that what you want for me?" when he didn't answer, she added, "You said you wanted me to have a home, didn't you? Well, that will never happen as long as I stay here."

Grissom stared at her.

He swallowed hard before he calmly picked up her letter.

"You're right." He said softly, "You're right, Sara. You deserve to be happy."

"You too, Grissom," she said, "This isn't just about me." She tried to smile but it was too hard now. "I'll stay two weeks," she said, trying to sound businesslike.

"That won't be necessary," He said calmly, "We'll manage-"

She paused.

"Grissom… I don't have to leave just yet. I have court appearances-"

"Sign everything over to Warrick." He said calmly "He'll handle those."

"I can't do that-"

"Please, Sara." He said not looking at her.

Sara realized that he was barely holding it together. Having her around was too painful, now that he knew he was going to lose her.

"All right," She said softly. She opened her purse and took out several items: her gun, her keys, her cell phone… "I'll hand my cases over to Catherine." She said, "She'll know where to contact me if you need me for a court appearance, or a statement-"

"All right."

Grissom looked at her and for a moment he had a vivid recollection of her kisses and her breathy moans…She looked up at him at the same time, and he suddenly had the feeling that she was thinking the same thing. She looked away first.

"Goodbye, Grissom."

"Goodbye Sara."

When she rose from her seat, he spoke.

"If I had tried to love you, I would have lost you anyway." He said. "And sooner."

"But you don't know for sure, do you?" she asked softly. "And now, you never will."

And then she left.

* * *

The rest of the night was a blur. Thankfully, there was work to do. But at the end of the shift, Sara's closest coworkers came to his office, demanding answers to their questions.

"'_Why is she leaving?' 'Why didn't you stop her?' 'Is she leaving because Hank is getting married?' 'Why didn't you stop her?' 'Why didn't you stop her' 'stop her... stop her?'"_

Grissom silently listened to them and calmly waited until they shut up.

"Please, leave my office."

It took them by surprise. They had expected him to mutter some reassurances that Sara would be back, or that they would be fine no matter what. But the unemotional response was… eerie. It was as if Grissom had spoken from a great distance, so far away that his voice was devoid of any feeling.

He wasn't even pissed off at them for barging into his office.

His words were effective, though. In fact, they were more effective than if he had screamed at them. Catherine, Warrick and Nick glanced at each other and decided to leave quietly. Only Greg remained behind.

"She's my friend, Grissom. I like having her around."

"I know, Greg." He said.

"Can't you stop her?" he said hopefully, "She would stay if you asked her."

"She's made up her mind." Grissom said.

"It just… it won't be the same without her." Greg said mournfully.

"No." Grissom admitted. He looked at the youngest CSI and he felt a little compassion. "She'll be back, Greg." He said reassuringly, "You'll see."

"Are you sure?" he challenged, "She looks like she's serious about this." He stared at Grissom, and then he lowered his voice, "Look, you're my boss and all, but if this is your fault-"

Grissom frowned at the tone and the veiled threat. Greg faltered a little but he didn't back down.

"What did you do to her?" he insisted.

"I didn't do anything." Grissom said softly.

And that was the problem.

------

TBC

This story will have two endings; an unhappy one, (fourth chapter) and a happy one.

Thank you for reading!!


	5. July 2008 and 2010 The Unhappy Ending

JULY AND DECEMBER

JULY 2010, JULY 2008: 

A sad ending

This chapter is told from Grissom's POV

Spoilers: Lies, larvae and videotape, and the Anthony Hopkins/Emma Thompson movie "The Remains of the Day" (I really think that if Grissom watched this movie, he'd also identify with Hopkins' character.)

Warning: Character death, drama, tragedy… in short, read this only if you want to cry. (But you can read it and assume that it was just a dream…)

* * *

JULY 2010

Someone's knocking on my door. I barely stir. I don't want to move and I won't. Let them bang all they want. It'll be ok. Whoever it is, he'll leave and I'll go back to sleep-

"Gil!" a female voice calls, "Grissom, open up!"

Oh, crap. It's Catherine.

I don't want to see her but if I don't open the door soon, she'll make such a racket that my neighbors will remind me –again- that they tolerate my presence just because I've kept things quiet until now.

I leave the dubious comfort of my couch and walk to the door.

I open it, glare at her and then I go back to the living room; but before I turn I catch a glimpse of her face. She's opened her mouth to say something but one look at me makes her shut up. I know what I look like. Sometimes a get a glimpse of my face in the mirror and I barely recognize the man looking back. My hair is long and wild, my beard looks like a rat's nest, and my eyes are empty- like a murderer's. If I didn't shower and if I didn't wear clean clothes, anybody would think I'm homeless.

I like it; I like to _look_ like this. It keeps the do-gooders away.

"Oh, Gil." She sighs. This is what she does when she comes to my place: She sighs, she says something –hoping to make me react- and then she quietly starts to pick up the mess I've created. I mean, I try to keep my place clean, but I tend to accumulate books, newspapers, and bug specimens, and I keep the windows locked. That's the first thing she does today: Open the windows.

I let her work until I notice that she's afraid of lifting a box. She thinks there's a spider under it, like the last time.

"Don't worry. I haven't collected anything lately."

"Gil, I know you never listen to what I say, but I'll say it anyway: you can't go on like this."

I look at her for a moment. I usually don't say anything, but she's worried.

"Please, don't worry about me." I say, but it's not enough to placate, so I add, "I know you mean well, Catherine, but… I like my life." I say, "I study, I read, and I don't have to deal with crime anymore."

She's not convinced; she shakes her head and turns away.

She quietly sorts the mail I've let accumulate on my coffee table. I take care of my bills, but the rest of my mail remains untouched. I pretty much know what's inside some of those envelopes, anyway. There are cards from Warrick and Nick; cards from Brass, who retired early this year and moved away; and big envelopes from Greg. He's a father now, and for some reason he considers me his baby's godfather; I've never acknowledged the honor but he keeps sending me pictures of his son anyway.

I rarely read their messages or write back, but I appreciate their efforts. They're trying to keep me connected to the world. They keep tabs on me too; now and then they make phone calls just to make sure that I'm ok. They don't talk or ask anything; and as soon as I speak and ask them to stop worrying, they hung up.

"A bullet would me more merciful, Gil."

I turn. Catherine's looking at me from the other side of the room.

"I don't want mercy." I say, and suddenly I'm reminded of a song in Spanish I learned in the seventies,

_"Hoy quiero saborear mi dolor… no pido compasión ni piedad…"_

_(Now I want to savor my grief; no, I don't want compassion nor pity…"_

"But you look…" she protests weakly, "You're so…"

"I'm ok." I say, and it's true. I'm healthy, despite my appearance. We Grissoms are a resilient bunch. My mother is still alive, for God's sake. My father's dead (but then he was not a Grissom, the bastard. Oh, wait. _I'm _the bastard).

Catherine sighs again, and goes to the kitchen. She opens a drawer and rummages 'til she finds a pair of scissors.

"Come sit down," she says, patting a chair. I sit and she skillfully starts cutting my hair. She tells me about the lab, and the cases. She starts trimming my beard, and that's when she tells me that Lindsay's pregnant. Her voice falters a little. I don't know what to say and eventually she just keeps talking. She's determined to help her daughter, she says. She'll probably have to quit CSI, and do something else. Open a boutique, perhaps.

"How's Lindsay doing?"

"She's scared."

"You'll be ok." I said, awkwardly, "_Grandma_." I add.

"Oh, that's a low blow." She says, pretending to be indignant. Then she sighs, "I'm scared too. My baby's having a baby." She's going to say something when her attention wanders. "What's that?" she asks.

I look at the kitchen counter. There's something flat and shiny on it.

It's something I was cleaning up early today- silver tarnishes if you're not careful – and suddenly, I'm overwhelmed by the need to tell my story. Nobody knows it; not even Sara had the whole picture… and by the time _I _had it, it was too late.

"Do you want to hear a story, Catherine?" I ask. I don't wait for her answer. I have to tell someone… and I'm glad it's her. She's not bound to get over sentimental about it, but she'll understand. "It started one July," I explain, "a long time ago…"

And I tell her the story of our lives –Sara's and mine –the little I can tell her of the events that occurred a long time ago; events that shaped the rest of our lives, starting on 1998 and ending on 2004.

After I tell her about it, I look for my diary, the one I stopped writing a long time ago –(there was no point in going on, right? I only started it as a sort of therapy in order to deal with a pain that I was sure would only be temporary).

I open my book and search for a date, two years ago, so she understands what those shiny objects mean. And then I read…

(Excerpts from Grissom's diary)

July 6 2008:

She left four years ago.

I think it's fitting that today I finally came to terms with the fact that she's an FBI agent, and a successful one.

Her first job at the Bureau was as an assistant instructor, teaching forensics to FBI recruits. I kept hoping she'd despise her job –and come back to CSI- but she didn't. She held it for two whole years before being rewarded with a position at the Profilers' Unit. It was the kind of job she would excel at, but I wondered if she'd tolerate the 'Boys' Club' attitude of her male colleagues, and the condescending way they treated female agents. Part of me wanted her to succeed, but part of me hoped she would hate it.

She didn't hate it. She did great, actually.

In fact, Sara has done so well at the FBI that it seems that the years she spent with us were merely a stepping stone in her career. She took the knowledge she acquired at the lab and used it for the benefit of the Bureau.

Not that I really _know_ what it's going on in her life. The little I get to hear about her comes courtesy of the FBI bulletins we get now and then, and thanks to Catherine and Greg, who chat with her every month and then casually tell me about it. I pretend I don't care much, and they pretend they believe me.

Sara and I haven't talked in four years. After she left, I tried to establish some sort of relationship with her - a long distance friendship like the one we had when she lived in San Francisco… But she never answered my phone calls and she never even read my e-mails. By August, I had finally gotten the message behind her silence: _Let me move on._

I did.

Everybody has moved on, actually. A year ago, Warrick and Nick requested a transfer and got it - Nick returned to Texas and Warrick moved to New Orleans. A little after that, Catherine was promoted to Day Shift Supervisor and she left me too. Only Greg has remained behind, and he's my right hand now… But he won't be here much longer. Last year he married his long-time girlfriend and he's been talking of moving to Oregon, where most of her family lives. He's going to become a father in a couple of months.

Time's passing by so fast…

_I_ didn't move on. I still do my job and spend most of the hours of the day at the lab. The cases are still gruesome and complicated and they keep me busy enough not to dwell on personal losses.

But when I have too much free time in my hands, I pick up a pen and I write this.

I also think… and remember.

I came to terms with her absence a long time ago. It was hard, but I eventually accepted the fact that she wouldn't be back. I've missed her, sure; but I've taken comfort in my picture-perfect memories of her: Sara, helping me to solve a case… Sara, brushing chalk off my cheek… Sara, solving a case all by herself… Sara, telling me to think outside the box…

And mostly, Sara, bringing me a thermos of coffee and a blanket while I studied a rotting pig. Not a very romantic image, some would say… but it's just perfect. I think that's my favorite memory of her. If I died and had to relive a single moment of my life for eternity, that's the one I'd choose: Both of us sharing a cup of coffee and taking notes… Her smile… and her eyes full of devotion and gratitude as she uttered a single word: 'thanks'.

July 11

At first, I thought –I hoped- that Sara would come back, if only for a visit. By the second year, I was still hoping she'd visit, but I also started dreading the idea. I was sure she'd bring a boyfriend or a husband and maybe even a baby; I was afraid that she'd look at me in the eye… and she would tell me without words that all that could have been mine, if I-

If.

It was a relief when she didn't come with a husband and a baby, but… Now I wish she had. I wish she'd visit -with a husband and a kid or two –or a dozen; it doesn't matter. I just need to see her... Because I've started to forget what she looks like.

Those images of hers I mentioned a few days ago –the smile, the eyes, and her voice- have started to blur. I can't seem to capture her smile - her smiles, I mean: the _I-don't-want-to-show-my-gap_ one; the small, flirty one she gave me when I told her I needed her to work with me; and her happy _I-don't-mind-if-you-look-at-my-gap_ smile. Sometimes I can't recall her voice, and have to go to the evidence room to listen to old interviews on tape, in order to remember.

And sometimes I do remember her voice and her smile, and it's the eyes I can't see clearly.

I'm afraid that one of these days I won't be able to conjure her image at all…

And then I'll be left with nothing.

Brass came to my office today. I was reading a report, and he let me finish before he said anything. But by the look in his face, I had a good idea of what he was going to say.

"How are you doing, Gil?"

I had my answer ready:

"I'm fine." That's what I always say.

His next question was predictable too.

"Are you?"

I opened my mouth to continue this dialogue we've repeated a hundred of times in the last four years:

He: "Are you?"

Me: "Yes, I am,"

He: "Oh, well. (sarcastically) As long as you think you're ok."

Me (glaring): "I _am_, Jim."

He (backing off): "Ok, I heard you"

So, instead of repeating that conversation, I answered truthfully.

"I can't remember her face anymore." He didn't ask whom I was talking about; he waited for me to continue, and I did, "Yesterday I was watching an old movie called 'The Remains of the Day'" I said, and he frowned because he didn't see what that had to do with Sara. But he didn't say anything. He merely looked at me in silence. It's an effective technique that forces witnesses to babble, and it worked on me too. After a pause, I explained, "It's a movie about a butler and a housekeeper and World War II-"

"I saw it." Brass said slowly, "It's an English movie, right?" When I nodded, he mused aloud, "I think I remember. The housekeeper falls in love with the butler, but he's a repressed SOB-" he looked at me in the eye, "He lets her go and when he tries to get her back, it's just too late."

I nodded.

"That's the one." I said, "I saw it and didn't think anything of it. But when I woke up today and thought of Sara-" I looked up, "I always think of her when I wake up," I explained, "it's like waking up from a nightmare, only to discover that it wasn't a nightmare-" I paused and returned to my original subject, "So, I woke up today and when I thought of Sara, it wasn't her face I saw in my mind, but Emma Thompson's. No matter how I tried to picture Sara, it was Emma Thompson that I saw… in a white lab coat and in coveralls-" I tried to smile but there was nothing funny about it. "I _know_ what Sara looked like and I could describe her to you-" I paused, "But I just can't picture her."

"For God's sake, Gil." He sighed, "Just call her, why don't you?"

"What for?" I frowned, "To ask her for a picture?"

"If that's all you need from her." he said calmly (although I could see he was making a big effort not to yell at me).

"She has her own life now." I said.

"Yeah, but she always had a soft spot for you. Who knows what she'll do if you grovel?" He tried to smile, "Maybe she'll be your friend again. Wouldn't that be something?"

He quietly left my office.

I hesitated for a couple of minutes, but finally I dialed an FBI number I'd memorized a long time ago.

A secretary told me that Sara was on an assignment, but that she'd get my message as soon as she returned.

July 12:

Sara never got my message.

Yesterday, Sara Sidle died in the line of duty, while rescuing a kidnapped child. According to a source that asked to remain anonymous (actually, a friend of Greg's at the Bureau), Sara acted on her own when the man in charge botched the rescue operation. Disobeying her supervisor's orders to stay put, she entered the building the kidnappers were huddled in, and rescued the boy. She got the little kid to safety, but not before getting shot in the back. Her colleagues took her to safety but medical assistance was slow to arrive and Sara didn't even make it to the hospital.

She died a hero.

July 16:

Catherine, Greg, and I flew to Washington for her memorial service.

Sara's family won't be there. They don't want anything to do with the FBI; they simply took her ashes and left. We don't want to deal with FBI agents either, but we need to be there. It's our last chance to be close to her.

The Bureau hasn't publicly admitted any wrongdoing in Sara's death; they simply sanitized the truth, obliterating all evidence of their incompetence and using Sara's part in the rescue to make everybody look good. But according to Greg's friend, heads have started to roll: Sara's supervisor, Culpepper, and others had been fired…

Sara was right; she made a difference.

But it's a hollow victory.

Nick and Warrick were already there. They were especially kind to me, treating me as if I were Sara's widower. I didn't want their pity. I don't know what I wanted, but it certainly wasn't that. Besides, there had to be someone else who deserved it more. I looked around, wondering if there was a boyfriend out there, a legitimate widower… someone who grieved for her like I did.

Sara's profiler colleagues were kind to us. When we entered the auditorium, they immediately offered us the seats up front. They treated us as if we were Sara's family, and due to the Sidles' absence, that's what we were. We were certainly mourning her as if she had never left CSI.

There was a blown up picture of Sara in the middle of the stage, and I was immediately drawn up to it.

Sara was looking determinedly at the camera with her I-am-going-to-send-you-to-jail expression. She wasn't smiling and her eyes were devoid of warmth. The lines around her eyes had deepened a little. The corners of her mouth were turned downwards. And all I could think of was 'where's her smile?'.

"It's not her," I whispered, "It can't be her. She can't be a handful of ashes in a box-"

"That's a recent picture," Catherine said, suddenly appearing at my side. "No fresh flowers." Catherine added. She fingered the paper-flower wreath that decorated Sara's picture, "They got one thing right at least"

I felt a stab of pain when I recalled that Sara hated it when people cut fresh flowers for ephemeral decoration.

"Aw, Sara." Catherine said aloud, "You forgot all I taught you."

"What?" I frowned.

"Look at the gray in her hair." She said, trying to hold back the tears, "She wasn't coloring it anymore." She shrugged, knowing it was silly to be talking about hair, but I understood. We all grieve differently.

Her FBI colleagues said great things about Sara- about how professional and caring she was, and how her death would leave a void at the Bureau. No one spoke of her as a friend, but as a colleague they respected and admired. I kept waiting for some guy to walk up there and say 'I loved Sara and she loved me;' I didn't want to hear what a great FBI agent she had become… I wanted to know if she had been happy.

It wasn't until Greg spoke, that we heard something about the Sara I knew. The one who loved flowers and vegetation; the one who was warm and loyal.

"She was my friend." Greg said towards the end. "She would probably be pissed at me for saying this, but… she was a sweet woman. She saw herself as thorny… but to me she was a beautiful rose. _We_ loved her." He said, looking at us in the front seats, "We'll miss her." He added, faltering a little. "We'll never forget her."

Oh, God.

Suddenly I was reminded of all the times that Greg tried to make do something about Sara. He used to come up with some truly hare-brained ideas designed to trick her into coming back. He kept asking me to at least make sure that she was happy… and I never did. I never _asked _her if she was.

And then Sandy Thompson, Sara's old friend, came up. She had been crying, but she held back her grief long enough to talk about her friend.

"She was very forgiving." She said at one point, "And she had a great capacity for love. I admired that. Her life was never easy, but she always held on to the idea that she could make a difference. She believed that she could change someone's life."

When Thompson stepped down, she studiously avoided looking at me. I left my seat and followed her to the back of the auditorium.

"Thompson, wait."

"I don't want to talk to you." She muttered, walking faster, "You're as bad as those FBI bastards-"

"Please, Thompson." I insisted, "You were Sara's friend. I need to know what her life was like these past years."

She hesitated. She wanted to leave, but she also wanted to tell me something. She turned. She crossed her arms and hugged herself as if she were cold.

"She liked her job." She explained, "But her bosses didn't appreciate her enough." She shrugged, "She didn't mind that. She knew that her work spoke for itself. She was proud of it." She took a deep breath, "A couple of years ago, during a stakeout, one of the guys in her unit tried to…" she gulped, "You know."

Oh, God. Oh, God.

"She never mentioned that." I said lamely.

"Why would she?" she challenged, "She always dealt with her troubles on her own. She _smashed_ his face against the steering wheel and got a two-month suspension over that. She was ok eventually; she had a couple of friends in high places, but it taught her not to trust anybody." Sandy looked closely at me, "I never heard her talk about you," she said slowly, "except at the very beginning, when she had just moved here. She said she understood your reasons. To me, you were just an emotionally dead SOB, but she defended you."

I didn't say anything.

"She was glad she came to Washington, Dr. Grissom." She said. "But I'd rather she'd be alive."

I didn't say anything. I was thinking of Sara, having to watch out because even colleagues within the FBI couldn't be trusted. She had left her friends in Las Vegas in order to work for people who didn't appreciate her enough.

"It's my fault too." she said suddenly, "Isn't it? That day at the airport- It was clear that there was something between you two, but I didn't like it. You were older, and I thought you just wanted to take advantage of her. I thought she should be with Steve," she closed her eyes, "But she loved you. After she saw you in Las Vegas for a couple of hours, she couldn't imagine being with anybody else. I should have let her. I should have let you two-"

"Thompson." I said sternly, "Don't do this. It's not your fault. _I _didn't fight for her. _I_ could have said something, not just once but a dozen times-"

"Why didn't you." She asked.

I didn't answer. I could have explained to her that I couldn't remember a time when loving someone didn't end with that person walking away from me. Or that even touching was an ordeal for me because my parents had never-

Oh, God, my reasons were too pathetic to be put into words.

"I'm sorry." I said and left her standing there while I returned to my seat.

They were playing a slow version of one of the songs she had always liked, and it was then that Warrick leant over and hissed

"You shouldn't have let her go. Sara was a workaholic. She didn't stop until-" he angrily let his words trail off.

"I didn't want this." I argued, "I wanted her to find someone… I thought she'd get married and have a kid."

"Griss, you never understood Sara. You were the only man she would have slowed down for."

Oh, God-

I remember little after that. I sort of… crumbled. When the service ended, Nick and Warrick had to help me up as if I had aged thirty years in just a few minutes. They were afraid I might be having a heart attack… and I almost laughed. What heart?

July 23

Life would never be the same, but I resumed my duties at the lab. I was sure that the routine would dull my grief. My work… that was all that mattered. I knew that things would be more difficult at home, but I thought I'd manage.

But something happened.

Yesterday I came home early in the afternoon; I was planning to nap for a few hours before going back to the lab. But first, I needed to look at my mail. I was sorting it out, when Sandy Thompson's handwriting caught my attention. A package from her could only mean something related to' Sara, so I immediately opened it. There was a card with the words, "Sara's family let me go through her things in case I wished to keep something, and I found this. I thought you should have it."

It was a flat package that looked vaguely familiar. It wasn't until I saw the sticker in a corner that I recognized the flowered wrapping paper. San Francisco Antiques. I touched it, just to make sure that it was real. Sara's handwriting was evident all over the package. She had written 'Dr. Grissom' in a corner, followed by several dates that she had crossed out: July 1998; December 1999…

She had tried to give this to me but for some reason she had decided not to.

My heart started beating faster and my hands trembled as I unwrapped the gift. I didn't know what to expect, and yet…how could I not know? After all, this little package was a replica of the one I'd kept hidden in my desk all these years. But when I finally saw what it was, I gasped in surprise. Lying on a square of blue velvet, there was –not the paper bookmark I had expected, but a silver one that I immediately recognized. She had pointed it out to me that night.

'Look' she had said, enjoying my surprise at seeing so much art dedicated to insects. "Look," she had said, "look at the spider and the web…"

It was beautiful; the spider was delicately etched in a corner, and the web was the bookmark itself.

I stared at it for a long time, asking questions that would never have an answer– why, how, when? I looked at the first date she had written, and I realized that she had bought it the day after she showed it to me. But why? We had just met a few days before, for God's sake… But the answer was simple; she _loved_ me. I remembered then the regret in her voice when I told her that I was leaving immediately. She wanted to say goodbye in person, she said; she wanted to give me this and I never gave her a chance.

That silly girl, who had so little money, had gone and bought this for me just because I listened to her; just because I made her feel pretty… Silly girl, why did you do this? Did you borrow money or did you use all your savings? Sweet, wonderful girl… nobody ever loved me like this. Nobody.

And it was this sacrifice of hers that finally broke something in me. Blinded by my tears, I managed to feel my way to my desk and I opened a drawer I hadn't touched in a long time. I searched for the butterfly and when I found it I shredded the wrapping paper and threw the square of burgundy velvet that had shrouded it all this time. I held the bookmark against my chest and I went back to the kitchen.

I put the bookmarks side by side. They fit. The web seemed to become part of the butterfly. The web had trapped the butterfly… or the butterfly had tried to free the spider from its prison, I wasn't sure. All I knew was that they fit together. They belonged together.

And I cried like a baby –the baby we never had- for my Sara, while I held those bookmarks against my chest, vowing to keep them together, as if in a marriage-

The marriage I was too cowardly to get.

August 1

I've quit my job. True to something I'd once told Warrick, there was no cake in the break room. I simply emptied my office and took everything with me.

Life stops here.

JULY 2010

"Life stops here," I read, and I wait for Catherine's reaction.

She looks at the bookmarks on the kitchen counter, and then at me. She takes a deep breath.

"You can't feel guilty forever, Gil." She says slowly, "This is not what she would have wanted. You've buried yourself here-"

I smile, because that's exactly what Thompson said, when she called me a few days after I quit.

"I had no option, Catherine," I explain, "In the end, I did what was best for the lab. I wouldn't have done my job well. I would have been distracted… You see, I keep thinking of her. I _want_ to think of her. And my memories of her are crystal clear, so-" I try to smile, but I haven't done it in a long time and I'm afraid I look more sick than reassuring. "My life is full. I keep busy. I study insects-"

She looks like she wants to argue, but in the end she only shakes her head.

"I'm so sorry, Gil. About Sara, I mean."

"Yeah." I nod. "Me, too."

She picks up her purse.

I accompany her to the door but before she opens it she pats my head, making me feel like a little kid.

"Promise you'll open the door whenever I come." She says.

"Promise me to stop worrying about me." I reply. And I watch her walk down the driveway and I silently ask, _Turn to the living, Catherine. Let me be._

Then I close the door and go back to sleep.

THE END

Thank you for reviewing…


	6. December 2004 Happy Ending I

JULY AND DECEMBER

Happy ending

I'd posted this a while ago but decided to do a little revision.

Warning: some sappy old songs ahead (from White Christmas)

Spoiler: Strip Strangler (mention of the FBI agent, Culpepper).

DECEMBER 2004

Prologue: late November

Grissom woke up early in the afternoon. He had crawled into bed after working twenty hours straight on a case that wasn't going anywhere, and he was still exhausted.

What he needed was a full night's sleep, but he knew that if he took the night off, he would not fall asleep. He would simply lie awake, staring at the ceiling, thinking too much. Thinking of her…

Like right now.

Grissom closed his eyes in defeat. Whenever he woke up after a few hours sleep, there was a moment -a few seconds of blissful ignorance- in which he always thought, 'I had a terrible nightmare, thank God I woke up', only to realize that it wasn't a nightmare.

Then he relived her kiss, his rejection, and their final moments together.

He would have dealt with it more effectively if it had only affected his personal life; he would have found comfort in his work, as he had done all his life. Instead, the lab was the one place where he felt Sara's absence the most.

And the worst part was that the people he worked with seemed to know what he was going through. They had taken an unwelcome interest in him lately, treating him with kindness and consideration, as if he were an abandoned lover.

Most of the time they instinctively knew better than to ask him about her; sometimes they came up and baldly asked him about her and her new job, and if he had any news. He was evasive most of the time, merely answering that he didn't know much.

But their interest in him had become too heavy a burden, and so he'd started to keep his door closed, effectively silencing everybody… and putting a strain in his relationship with them.

He didn't think he was being unreasonable; they should have known better than to intrude into his personal life.

But there was another reason for his reticence. The truth was, he didn't know anything about her. He didn't want to admit this; he didn't want anyone to know that she had never answered any of his e-mails or his phone messages.

But her silence was an answer in itself: '_Don't do this anymore. Let me move on'._

He did not send another message after the second week of August. But by then, Sara had contacted Catherine and Greg, and the three had been chatting monthly.

Frustrating chats, according to Greg, since Sara hardly ever said anything about Quantico or about her new home.

Grissom understood Sara's attitude. Not only was she a very private person, she was FBI now. She was bound to be careful; her colleagues were probably her neighbors too, so she couldn't just gossip about the people next door, could she?

And by the little she had told, it was clear that she was doing great. She was working as an assistant instructor in Forensics, but she had already been offered a post at the profilers' unit, as soon as one of their people retired in a year and a half.

Grissom remembered his reaction when Catherine told him this on early September: He had been supremely pissed off.

"_She's going to work with Culpepper?" _he asked incredulously.

Catherine had relished her chance to reply,

"Hey, it's a job. Maybe she'll rub off on him and improve him. Besides," and she eyed him pointedly, "It's not as if she has never worked with assholes before."

Unfortunately, Grissom had refused to take the bait.

Catherine sighed in frustration.

"You should wake up, Gil."

"What?" he frowned.

"You've been acting as if you're sedated. Ever since that night, you've detached yourself from your feelings. You don't realize this, but one of these days all this accumulated grief will overflow, and-"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, honestly mystified.

"I know you don't. That's why I'm telling you to wake up before it's too late."

She turned to leave, but his words stopped her just as she was reaching for the doorknob.

"I'm relieved"

"What did you say?"

"Deep down," he said, "I'm relieved that she's not here anymore."

She frowned, "Why?"

"I don't have to wonder, anymore." He said simply, "I used to lie awake for hours, wondering when she was going to leave…"

Catherine didn't say anything. There was no point.

It was the last time she had mentioned Sara, but her words remained with Grissom.

He got up hastily. He could only hope that he'd have a heavy workload today. Anything, to keep him from thinking of her –anything to keep his accumulated grief from overflowing.

* * *

After all these months, the only one who mentioned Sara in his presence was Greg. Confident to extremes, Greg didn't hesitate to talk about her or about their monthly chats. He would say things like: 

"She's doing ok, but she's not doing what she'd like to do; not yet. Culpepper insisted on using her experience in forensics first. Can you believe it? She's stuck in a classroom, dealing with the new recruits when all she wants is to work out there-"

Or:

"She's going to join Culpepper's unit in a year or so. It seems the guy who's retiring is leaving earlier than everybody thought."

Grissom's reaction was always the same: he hummed, "Mmmmh." and he continued peering into a microscope, or picking up evidence from a corpse, or whatever his task was at the moment.

It was late November when Greg finally got fed up by Grissom's apparent indifference. They were both examining a sheet.

"I miss her." Greg said out of the blue. "Sara, I mean."

"Mmmmh."

"She was a good friend."

"Mmmmh."

"I mean, she _is_ a good friend."

"Mmmmh."

"Maybe you don't know this, but-" he paused until Grissom glanced up, "-I used to have the biggest _crush_ on her," he finished, with a little wistful smile.

"I noticed." Grissom said dryly, before turning his attention back to the sheet. "You were rather eloquent about it."

"I was too obvious, huh?" Greg smiled sheepishly; "Well, I just never learned to repress my feelings, Grissom."

"Mmmh."

"I told her." Greg said after a moment.

"Told her, what?"

"That I had a crush on her."

Grissom pretended to be engrossed by a spot on the sheet.

"She was nice about it." Greg said, with a far away look in his eyes, "She let me down gently. She was flattered, she said. That she loved me, but not like _that_. She also said that she was too old for me-" He scoffed, "Talk about double standards. She was in love with _you, _after all."

Grissom dropped his magnifying glass.

Greg was glad to see him react at last, but it was a short-lived triumph. Grissom recovered and continued his examination.

Greg shook his head. He knew that Grissom had grieved for Sara in his own way; but what angered the young man was Grissom's apparent resignation.

"I can't believe you can go on just like that, you know?" he said softly, "I mean, you don't see her, you don't talk to her- I couldn't do that. I mean, _I_ don't have a crush on her anymore, but I still like to talk to her. We all do, actually. Nick and Warrick write, and so does Catherine-"

"Good for you."

"And when she writes back, I have the feeling that we're her only friends in the world. She's doing it again, you know."

"She's doing what?" Grissom frowned.

"She's letting the job take a hold of her life."

"You don't know that." Grissom argued.

Greg found a brownish-colored spot on the sheet and he carefully scrapped a sample.

"She's ok." Grissom said, more for his own sake, "Otherwise she would come back. She knows she can come back any time she wants-"

"Maybe she doesn't know that. Maybe you should tell her." Greg said, and when he noticed Grissom's expression, he added, "I know, I know. You think she's still pissed off at you and that she won't take your call or answer your e-mails. Am I right? Well, then maybe you should do something to appease her first."

Greg looked expectantly at him, but Grissom simply continued collecting evidence and filling envelopes with hairs and little unidentified specks.

"Of course…" Greg said after a moment, "If you don't know how to do it, I could help you." He paused, and he smiled when Grissom looked up. "I could write to her and mention –very casually, of course- that you're pining for her."

He waited for Grissom's approval. He got none, so he added, "I could send her a happy Thanksgiving e-card in your name. Or maybe I'll just tell her 'Grissom said hi'-"

"Greg-"

"Wait, wait," Greg said with growing enthusiasm, "Why don't I just tell her that you're grieving like crazy for her? That'll get her attention!"

"Greg, Sara's trying to build up a new life." Grissom said calmly, "We have to give her some space."

"She sure has plenty of space over there; she's all alone."

"She'll find someone, Greg." He said reassuringly, "She'll do great things at the FBI-"

"Yeah, maybe." Greg nodded, "But she'd be happier here, Grissom. _We_ care about her. We're her family. Do you think Culpepper will appreciate her like we do?"

Grissom didn't think so. In fact he had been feeling uneasy about this assignment.

"Besides," Greg added, "Her whole focus is in her job now. Do you think that'll change? It won't. She's just like you. The job will always give her an excuse not to open up to anybody, and in five or ten years she'll be just like you. Is that how you envision Sara's life?"

"She's not like me," he frowned.

Greg groaned.

"Oh, man you're just…" he paused, "You don't understand Sara! She's a workaholic, just like you. She's tried to open up but now she's afraid. Remember Hank? He was interested, but he got impatient with her. It's not just the fact that she loved you too much to give anybody else a chance, Grissom. She's just afraid of falling in love; she _runs away_ from it… but she would have stopped for you."

Greg paused, and Grissom had time to remember her efforts to convince him.

"To tell you the truth," Greg said, "You're not the guy I'd choose for her," he smiled faintly, "but then I can't be impartial about it, right?"

"I wouldn't choose myself for her either." Grissom said slowly.

"But you love her." Greg said, taking off his gloves, "You do, right?"

Grissom sighed.

"I thought so," he said "I thought about this a hundred times, Greg. Look." He tried to explain, "She might have stopped for me; but she would have left eventually." he gulped, "And then I would have been left alone."

"You're alone _now_." Greg said, patting his shoulder in a kindly gesture, "And even if she had stayed with you for only a month or a year or a week…" he smiled wistfully, "Oh, man. Think of the memories."

* * *

December 2004

_Love, you didn't do right by me; You planned a romance_

_That just hadn't a chance-_

_My one love affair didn't get anywhere from the start_

_To send me a joe who had winter and snow in his heart_

_Wasn't smart_

"Oh, for God's sake" Sara muttered when she caught herself singing that damn song again. She leant back in her chair and sighed.

What a day.

Not only was it Monday –the day when most of the recruits came in with a hangover- now there was also that song to deal with. She couldn't get it out of her head.

It was her fault, of course; no one had forced her to listen to the CD, or to accept it in the first place.

Last night, Dianne Lee –one of the other assistant instructors- had asked Sara to come over to her place to discuss their classes for the week. They'd done it before; they lived in the same building, and it was convenient.

This time however, there was a big difference, and Sara noticed it from the moment she saw the pained expression in Dianne's face.

"Come in," she said, and moved aside to let Sara enter.

Sara gasped.

She'd just stepped into a place taken out of The Twilight Zone.

Gone were the austere colors of Dianne's furniture, walls and floor. Everything had been smothered under a garish display of Christmas decorations.

"It wasn't me." Dianne said quickly, "My mom's visiting and she insisted on doing all this." She dropped her voice, "She even brought her old rugs -"

Dianne's mother turned out to be a nice, elderly lady who absolutely loved Christmas; she was even watching the movie 'White Christmas' on her daughter's DVD player when Sara arrived.

"You don't mind, do you?" Mrs. Lee had said, "It's a weakness of mine. I love musicals."

"It's Bing Crosby she loves," Dianne muttered to herself.

"And why not, may I ask?" Mrs. Lee replied, "Look at him," she said, motioning them towards the TV screen. "He was the handsomest." Mrs. Lee did turn to Sara and inquired if she didn't mind.

And Sara had assured her that it was ok, even though she dreaded the night ahead. She didn't like sappy musicals and this one looked like the sappiest, with its fake WWII decorations, so plainly made out of cardboard.

But Sara stayed. She needed help to plan her classes, and she also wanted to give Dianne some respite from her mother's Christmas mania.

Actually, it wasn't that bad in the end. Mrs. Lee's turkey sandwiches and eggnog and cookies had been a nice change from the usual pizza and soda that they consumed on nights like these.

And although she would never admit this aloud, she'd grudgingly accepted the fact that sometimes even sappy musicals can hold one's attention.

She'd even hummed one of the songs from the movie –long after it had ended- and Dianne's mother noticed.

"You liked the movie!" she smiled, "Isn't it the greatest? Wouldn't you like to listen to the CD? I brought it along with me, but I _know_ Dianne's getting tired of listening to it."

"Well…" Sara hesitated, "I really don't…"

"Take it," Dianne mouthed desperately behind her mother's back, "_Please_."

And that's how a Christmas album had made its debut in Sara's old CD player. Hence the song that was now stuck in her head.

'_Well,_' Sara thought impatiently, '_As soon as I'm finished here, I'm going to go home and listen to every CD I own. At least those were recorded in the last five years." _

The phone on her desk rang and she answered it quickly, needing the distraction.

Sara frowned as she listened to the receptionist. She recognized the voice but the words didn't seem to make sense. Something about a visitor… Las Vegas… Dr. Grissom…

It couldn't be.

"Are you sure?" she insisted. But of course, the receptionist wouldn't have announced a visitor if she hadn't thoroughly checked on the person's credentials.

"Let him in." Sara said mechanically.

Sara put the phone down and stared at the wall opposite her desk.

"Mr. Winter-and-Snow himself." She said.

She took a moment to compose herself and then she walked to the door.

* * *

TBC 


	7. December 2004 Happy Ending II

JULY AND DECEMBER

Happy ending (revised version)

I wrote the happy ending in 2004 but was unhappy with it. (How ironic)

In the end, I decided to tone down the sappiness. There was no way that Grissom would ever do some of the things I originally made him do!

Spoiler: Strip Strangler (mention of the FBI agent, Culpepper).

* * *

DECEMBER 2004

Grissom suppressed a yawn as the elevator took him to Sara's floor. He was exhausted; driving all the way to Quantico right after arriving from Las Vegas hadn't been very wise. He should have taken the nap that the manager at the Hilton Hotel had suggested.

But taking a nap meant delaying his visit to Sara, and he didn't want to do that. He couldn't wait another day.

Now, as he rode the elevator, he mused on the fact that he was in a federal building, and that his every move was probably being monitored. They had certainly taken long enough to check on his credentials before telling Sara he was there. They hadn't even let him bring the bag he'd brought for Sara. There were gifts in there; they were probably checking them for bombs right now. The thought made him smirk.

He saw his own reflection on the doors of the elevator, and marveled at the fact that he felt as calm as he looked. Shouldn't he be more nervous? After all, there was a lot at stake; whatever happened in the next couple of hours–in the next couple of minutes, actually, depending on Sara's reaction- would determine the rest of his life.

Maybe Greg's enthusiasm had rubbed off on him?

Grissom smiled to himself as he recalled how Greg helped him plan all this; he'd helped with the flight and the hotel reservations, and then he'd provided Grissom with an excuse to see Sara: he asked everyone from the night shift to get a Christmas card and/or gift for Sara, which he would then send to her.

That was Grissom's cue; as soon as Greg started talking about FedEx and DHL, Gil casually mentioned that he would attend a conference in Washington, and that he could drop the gifts to Sara while in the neighborhood.

It was the sort of coincidence that had probably fooled nobody, but no one commented on it.

'The rest depends on you,' Greg said the night before Grissom's flight.

'Now, what are you going to say when you finally come face to face with Sara?'

'That's private,' Grissom had said with a scowl.

But Greg had insisted.

'Hey, I don't want you to say something lame to her, Grissom. Come on,' he prompted, 'Just pretend Sara's here.'

When he saw that Grissom would not even discuss the matter, Greg changed tactics, launching on a long speech on clothes and their effect on women. Grissom listened until Greg offered to help him shop for a new outfit. Grissom balked.

The elevator was now approaching the 12th floor, and Grissom took a deep breath.

And suddenly, he wished he'd planned what he was going to say to her, because his mind was a blank.

The doors opened, and he found himself face to face with Sara.

"Sara," He said, as if she was there by some happy coincidence and not because he'd specifically asked for her.

Her eyes seemed to brighten at the sight of him -but only briefly. So briefly, in fact, that he wondered if he had only imagined it.

Her smile certainly didn't seem like the smile of someone happy to see him. It was a business-like smile.

"Grissom," She said noncommittally.

Gil hesitated for a moment, and then he stepped into the hallway. The doors closed behind him.

For a moment, they stood in the middle of the hallway, staring at each other in silence.

Grissom thought he would know, as soon as he looked at her, whether coming to see her was a good idea or not. He'd always been able to read her emotions, even when he didn't want to; all he'd had to do was look into her eyes.

But this time there was nothing to see, nothing to infer. She simply stared back at him, just as she would stare at a stranger –and not even an interesting stranger at that.

It was unsettling.

She spoke first.

"Let's go to my office," she said, motioning him to follow.

Grissom glanced sideways at her. She was wearing a white lab coat, so at least there was something familiar about her. Her hair was severely drawn back from her face into a tight bun; she wore no jewelry and very little make up -

She glanced at him.

"Everything all right, Grissom?" she asked, cutting into his observations.

"Yes," He said, as if the question surprised him. She shrugged slightly.

"It's just so unexpected," she explained, "Seeing you here, I mean."

"I just dropped by for a visit."

"Dropped by all the way from Las Vegas?" she asked expressionlessly, "That's hard to believe."

She led him to the office at the end of the hallway. It was small, and the few pieces of furniture filled the little space there was -a desk, a filing cabinet, a couple of chairs. The only window was barred.

Sara sat behind the desk and motioned Gil to take a visitor's chair.

He smiled faintly as he sat. Their positions were reversed now.

"So, what are you doing in Washington?" she asked. The cordiality in her tone softened the abruptness of the question.

"Well, actually…" He realized he didn't where to begin. Too late, he realized that Greg might be right; one shouldn't improvise these situations. He should have practiced what he was going to say.

In the end, he repeated the same lie he'd told his coworkers back in Las Vegas.

"I'm in town for a conference," he explained, "When Greg found out, he decided to -"

She frowned.

"A conference?" she interrupted, "That's odd. I keep tabs on all forensic conferences; I don't remember anything about a -"

"It's not on Forensics." He said abruptly, "It's… for Entomologists."

"Oh." She said, "Well, it's still odd, Grissom. December's not a good month for conferences or seminars."

"We're a weird bunch." He said evasively.

Sara didn't comment on that. She merely looked at him and waited.

Grissom glanced away. He noticed the few FBI posters on the wall behind her, and then he looked down at her desk, where the few objects on it were all work-related. There was nothing personal in her office; if her name hadn't been on the door, he wouldn't have known where to look for her.

"So." Sara said, interrupting his musings again.

He looked at her, and it suddenly hit him, the fact that she probably didn't want him there, looking at her office and at her desk, prying into her new life -

He forced those thoughts to the back of his mind.

"So, you're teaching the seminars now." He said amiably. It was pointed, how much their roles had changed. Even their seating arrangement was reversed. This was _her_ office and _her_ desk, and she was in control now.

And by her behavior so far, it was obvious that she was not going to make things any easier for him.

Just as he'd never made it any easier for her.

He searched for something safe to ask.

"So, do you like teaching?"

"I do," she nodded. She kept her gaze on him, as if waiting for the next question. When Gil didn't speak, she added, "I, hum, have a class in ten minutes -"

He took the hint. He still hadn't told her what he was in Quantico for.

"I got you some gifts," he said abruptly.

Her eyes widened.

"You do?" she asked.

Grissom realized that she thought the gifts were from _him_, and so he rushed to explain.

"Everyone from the night shift sent you something," he said quickly. "It's a huge bag," he added, "I was hoping to bring it up with me but the people downstairs wouldn't let me. They probably think I brought a bomb with me," he added, and in a tone that said, '_can you believe those idiots?._'

A year ago, she would have laughed in complicity; now, she simply nodded.

"We're pretty vulnerable here," she explained, "We have to take precautions."

He noticed the '_we'_ and the patronizing tone she used. She really was part of the FBI now.

The thought saddened him.

"They're just Christmas gifts, Sara." He said gently, "Everybody sent you something, by the way. Even people from other shifts chipped in."

He watched her as he said this. She'd been frosty and serious all along, but as soon as she heard him mention her coworkers, her expression softened. Finally, she flashed him a genuine smile.

"How's everybody?" she asked.

"They're ok," he said. "Busy," he added.

She smiled, a faraway look in her eyes now.

He leant forward. "They miss you, Sara."

She held his gaze for a moment and then she dropped it.

He deliberately added, "But you already know that; Greg says he's been asking you to come back from day one."

She didn't reply but there was still a faint smile on her face, and Grissom took this as a good sign.

"Sara, I was wondering if we could talk-" he started.

She pressed her lips together, thus erasing the smile.

"Well," She hesitated, "I have classes all afternoon -"

"That's all right," he said good-naturedly, "We can talk later."

"-and I have some paperwork to do." she finished, still without looking at him.

"I can wait, Sara."

"Grissom, this is a bad time -"

"Can't we go out? Later?" he said desperately, "I was hoping we could talk over din-"

Sara looked up sharply and flashed him a look that said, '_Don't you dare say that word.'_

It worked. Grissom didn't finish the phrase. But he wasn't discouraged at all. Ironically, seeing her react like this gave him hope; it meant she wasn't as indifferent as she appeared to be.

And she was clearly chagrined at her sudden lack of control. She took a deep breath and when she looked at him again, her expression had somehow changed, the frostiness gone, replaced by wariness.

"Grissom -" she said, "Look. It's not that I don't appreciate what you did," she said slowly, "I do. I just don't think this is a good idea. If you leave the gifts at the reception area, I'll go pick them up later."

Grissom looked at her. He knew she could have simply have him escorted out of the building. The fact that she didn't do this gave him yet more hope. He didn't want to take advantage of her good nature, but there was no other way.

"Sara, I can wait until you're finished with your paperwork," he said calmly. "I have nothing to do today," he said, "Or tomorrow," he added before she could voice another objection. "Besides, I promised to deliver those gifts in person."

Sara sighed.

"I guess we could go down to the cafeteria-"

"Sure." He said, "If you don't mind people _eavesdropping_ on us_."_

He was shamelessly manipulative when he had to.

Sara opened her mouth to reply but the sound of the elevator doors opening interrupted her. Suddenly, the hallway became alive with the voices of several people talking at the same time. Sara's pupils.

Sara glanced at her watch and then at Grissom.

"The new recruits," she said. She rose from her seat, "I've got to go -"

Grissom rose too.

"What about us?" he asked.

"Grissom -" she glanced at the door. She didn't want anyone listening to this conversation.

"Couldn't we meet somewhere more private?" He asked hurriedly, "The guys sent cards too and I think some of the messages are quite emotional; you don't want to read those in public."

She was silently pleading with him but he ignored this.

"Sara -" he started. "_Please,"_ he said simply.

The magic word.

"All right." She said. "We can meet later, at my apartment." She patted the pockets of her lab coat and took something from one of them –a card. "My apartment is at the Stafford Building. I'll be there at eight." She said, "Just show the card to the guy at the reception desk."

* * *

TBC 


	8. December 2004 Happy Ending III

JULY AND DECEMBER

Happy ending (revised version)

* * *

Sara's card opened doors for Grissom; all he had to do was flash it, and security guards let him pass with barely a glance at his ID. 

Gil shook his head every time this happened; they _assumed_ he was ok just because of a card –a card that could have been stolen? That didn't say much for the FBI and their security measures.

Deep down however, he wasn't really concerned about security; it was the fact that Sara's card carried such weight in this town that worried him the most. She obviously held a position of authority now; there was no way that she'd trade all this for her old job in Las Vegas.

Shaking this thought from his mind, Grissom looked for a parking spot.

---

He didn't like her apartment.

While the Stafford building was decorated with so many Christmas lights that it looked like something out of Las Vegas, Sara's place was devoid of decorations of any kind.

He'd sized it up at a glance: A square surface that held a kitchen, a living room and a dining area. Small and cramped, to Grissom it looked remarkably like his own place: Functional but lacking warmth. It was ok for him, but not what he would have wanted for her.

A darkened hallway led to the rest of her apartment. He was wondering what her bedroom looked like, when something else drew his attention : Several boxes neatly piled against a wall, with her name and her old address still stuck on them. She still hadn't finished unpacking, and he considered this a good sign.

She obviously didn't consider this a home yet.

"So." Sara said, interrupting his musings.

He wondered if she resented him for gawking. He looked at her but saw no resentment in her eyes. He saw nothing, actually. She was determined not to show any feelings in his presence.

Grissom lifted the cardboard box he had brought with him.

"Where do you want this?" he asked, since every surface in the tiny living room was covered with papers and books.

"The dining table," she said, motioning him to follow. She pushed aside a pile of books and her CD player to make some space.

Grissom set the box on the table and looked up.

She merely stared back. If he was expecting to rush to open the box, he was in for a disappointment.

"Thanks," she said simply.

Grissom knew she was dismissing him, but he was not ready to go, yet.

"By the way," he said, reaching into a shirt pocket. "I guess you'll want this back." He gave her the card back. He smiled faintly, "I was wondering if it would get me a discount at the Quantico gift shop."

She didn't appreciate the humor.

"It wouldn't," she said curtly.

Grissom wasn't defeated by her reaction.

"I'll open this for you," he said, and before Sara could stop him, he set to work on the numerous layers of tape that Greg had used to secure the box.

Uncomfortably, Sara turned away.

"I'll make some tea," she said.

She was busy in the kitchen for a couple of minutes, and when she returned she brought a box of store-bought cookies with her. She put it on the table.

"There," Grissom said, finally getting all the tape off. "Everybody sent something," he added, looking expectantly at Sara.

Sara reluctantly opened a flap and peered inside the box. Her eyes widened when she saw the treasures within. Her first impulse was to reach inside but Gil's presence put a stop to that. She didn't want to open her gifts in front of him.

Grissom noticed.

"Am I a stranger to you now?" he asked.

She was apologetic.

"Grissom," she said, "A lot has changed -"

"I know," he interrupted. He looked into her eyes, "Just tell me this," he said softly, "Are you happy here?"

She opened her mouth but before she could answer, the shrill sound of the kettle interrupted her. She was torn between answering his question and rushing to the kitchen, and in the end Grissom solved the problem for her.

"It's ok," he said. "I'll take care of it. Open your presents," he added gently.

He didn't wait for her response. He went to the kitchen and got busy. He opened cabinets in search of tea bags and mugs, and then he poured the tea. He was aware of her every move, though. He noted how she would pick a gift, partially unwrap it, and then put it aside. The gifts themselves didn't held her attention for long, it was the cards that she wanted to see. She impatiently tore the envelopes open, as if hungry to read their contents. She'd read a card, put it down, and then pick it up again, as if to make sure she'd understood the words.

There was a moment when she started shaking. Afraid that she might be crying, Grissom looked up in alarm, only to realize that she was chuckling softly.

He poured two mugs of tea and brought them to the table.

"One sugar, no milk." He said, setting a mug in front of her.

She composed herself before she looked up. She was smiling but there were tears in her eyes. She waved the card in her hand.

"Greg," she said as sole explanation, "He's an idiot, right?"

"Absolutely," He said, smiling back.

But she didn't put the card down; she read and reread, as if she wanted to memorize the message. Finally, she put it on the pile of cards she'd already read, and reached into the box for another gift.

She picked a flat object and started to unwrap it.

Grissom cautiously took a seat. To his relief, she didn't object.

He knew keeping quiet was probably the best course to take, but he couldn't help saying something.

"They've told me you don't say much in your e-mails."

"They ask too many questions." She replied dryly.

She smiled when she saw what lay inside the elegant box in her hands. She even showed it to Grissom: It was a glossy make-up case.

"Catherine," Grissom said, and Sara nodded.

"Do you think she's trying to tell me something?" Sara asked with a mischievous smile.

"You don't need it," Grissom said, "You're beautiful already."

Sara's smile wavered. She looked down to read her card.

Grissom hesitated, and then he spoke again.

"You never answered any of my mails."

She didn't look up. She spoke reluctantly.

"I told you I needed to start over," she said quietly. "I thought you'd accepted my terms."

"I didn't know you'd cut me off like that," he replied. He didn't like the way he sounded, as if he couldn't live without hearing from her. It put him in a vulnerable position.

But he couldn't help it.

"I thought we'd still be friends," he added, "I thought we would -"

"We can't be friends," she said abruptly. She looked at him but didn't hold his gaze for long. It was the first time she'd spoken with something close to passion, and it seemed that this single burst of emotion bothered her. She took a moment to get herself together.

When she lifted her gaze, she was serene again.

"I told you I wanted to start over," she said reasonably. "I thought I'd made myself clear."

Grissom kept her gaze on her.

"What about your friends?" he asked, "Or you don't miss them, either?"

His words struck a chord.

"I miss everyone," she replied, almost angry that he would suggest otherwise. "Just because I'm -" but she stopped. She forced herself to back down again. She took a deep breath, "Grissom, these past months have been hard on me," she said slowly. "But I don't regret my decision."

She seemed more secure, now. "I needed something different in my life, and I got it." she explained, "It's a different job altogether. I have other concerns now."

Grissom stared at her.

"You still haven't answered my question." He challenged.

She didn't immediately reply. She looked down at the table.

"Sara?" he pressed on.

She shook her head.

"You have no right to do this," she said. "You can't come in here and ask me questions, as if -" she stopped abruptly. She was making an effort to keep her emotions in check, but she was losing the battle.

She shook her head again. "I couldn't stay in Vegas, Grissom." She said with finality. "Not after seeing what my life had become. I'd spent too many years waiting; waiting to see one of your rare smiles, waiting for you to say something -" she gulped, "Waiting for a crumb of your affection -" she finished bitterly.

He was taken aback by her words. He didn't know –but then he had never looked at the world from her own perspective.

"I hated that," she said. She looked at him. "I had to choose between being angry at myself or doing something to remedy a bad situation. I did what was best for me –and for you, too." She took a deep breath. "It's not that I don't appreciate all this," she said in a lighter tone, and she waved at the piles of cards and gifts. "I do. I appreciate that you came here -"

"I came because I care -"

And he said with such sincerity that it instantly moved her. Her eyes filled with tears, but she quickly blinked them back. She impatiently rubbed her nose with the back of her hand.

"I think you should leave now," she said resentfully.

"I can't," he whispered.

"Please, Grissom." She said. She looked pleadingly at him, "Remember what I said? We need to grow up -"

"I remember what you said, but this is important. It's the rest of your life we're talking about. You can't stay here, working for bastards like Culpepper -"

She smiled cynically.

"I think that's what it bothers you the most," she said, "The fact that I'm working for him -"

"Do you trust him?" he challenged. When she didn't answer, he softened his tone, "You have a home in Las Vegas, Sara. Friends who love you. And a job too, if you want it." he paused, letting these words sink in. "I never processed your letter of resignation. I used an old 'leave of absence' form that you filled out years ago."

She was speechless.

"Please, come back." he said, and after a moment's hesitation, he reached for her hand. He didn't know exactly what to do with it, and so he simply held it tight. "Things are going to change," he offered. "I promise."

She looked down at their clasped hands. She'd fantasized about a moment like this so many times…

Too many.

She gently started to remove her hand from his, but Grissom held on to her.

"Wait," he said. He looked down at their hands too, while trying to come up with something meaningful, something that would finally convince her.

Things were definitely not happening the way he and Greg had envisioned. He couldn't even remember the advice that the young man had given him. He did recall Greg's final words, _Tell her you're sorry! Grovel, and she'll forgive you!_'

But of course, she would forgive him; she was not a rancorous woman.

That was not the problem.

And then, before he knew what he was doing, he said something.

"These past months have been tough."

He paused for a moment, and then he added. "I've been living off my memories of you." He looked at her. "I thought it was enough, but it isn't. It was at first. It's just…" he paused. There was despair in his voice as he added, "Lately, I've started to have trouble remembering your face. Sometimes I can't even remember what your smile looks like. I'm afraid that one of these days I'll wake up and find that you've simply disappeared from my memory."

Sara visibly gulped, but she recovered quickly.

"All you need is a recent picture of me, then," she said.

She managed to pull her hand away at last, but after a moment's hesitation, she laid her hand on top of Grissom's. "You're just scared of change, Grissom," she said gently. "I'm not. You just need a little time."

She patted his hand reassuringly, and then she rose from her seat.

He looked up. She gave him what was probably intended as a reassuring smile; it only made her look as if she'd put on a mask.

"Listen," she said brightly, "We do have a long way to go, you and me. It won't be easy. But we'll be fine. You'll see."

She waited, and it was obvious that she expected him to take his leave.

Grissom suddenly remembered one word Greg had used: appease…

"I haven't given you my gift." he said impulsively.

"Grissom-" She sighed, but Grissom was already taking something from a pocket of his jacket.

She reluctantly sat again.

Grissom placed a flat package in front of her.

Her eyes widened when she saw the wrapping paper and the little sticker on it –both a bit faded, but with the words San Francisco Antiques still recognizable.

Grissom didn't notice the conflict in her eyes because he was looking at her hands, waiting for her to reach for the gift. He held his breath when she finally did, and then he forced himself to wait while she slowly unwrapped it. She touched the piece of burgundy velvet that protected the bookmark but didn't rush to unfold it. And when she finally did, she simply stared at it.

Grissom had the sinking feeling that he had failed to make much of an impression.

"You probably don't remember," he said, breaking the silence, "Back when I was in San Francisco, we used to window-shop every evening. No matter where we went, we always ended up at this little store that sold antiques."

He kept his gaze on her as he continued, "One night there was a bookmark collection on display; most of them were delicate and fragile, but there were other, sturdier ones. I saw this one and I thought it would be perfect for you; you used to carry some thick textbooks in those days-"

She didn't look up.

"You bought it all those years ago?" she asked.

"Yes," he said. Anticipating her next question, he said, "I couldn't give it to you because I had to leave sooner that I expected."

"But you could have -" she didn't finish. She looked at him, "Why are you giving it to me now?"

"It's yours." He said, "Please, take it."

Sara caressed the shiny surface, but there was no joy in her reaction, only regret. Grissom couldn't understand it.

"You don't like it?"

"I do," she said, "It's just…" she shook her head.

And then to Grissom dismay, she rose again. Only, instead of asking him to leave, she crossed the room and hunched down in front of the unopened boxes. She read the labels until she found the box she was looking for. She opened it and rummaged inside.

From his seat, he noticed that the box was filled with old pictures and pieces of jewelry –family mementos, probably.

She finally found what she was looking for and returned with it.

It was a smallish package that looked oddly familiar, and when she put it on the table he realized why: It was a package just like the one he had given Sara. It was the same paper, the same sticker from San Francisco Antiques. There were dates handwritten all over the sticker, each one of them crossed out.

Grissom looked sharply at her.

"It's yours." She said softly.

His hand shook a little as he reached for the package. He thought he knew what he would find inside –a bookmark, probably one of the paper bookmarks they'd seen that night. But the weight of the package belied this assumption.

He didn't share Sara's restraint; he tore the paper in his haste to open the gift. And when he finally saw what it was, he thought he was dreaming. There, resting on a square of blue velvet, was a silver bookmark, the one with the spider-in-its-web etching that Sara had pointed at all those years ago.

"I bought it the next day." She said, breaking the silence.

Grissom looked at her.

"But you couldn't afford this," he said, "You were still paying off student loans-"

She as dismissive.

"I had savings."

"But Sara… This…" he didn't know what to say. Nobody had ever given him anything this beautiful.

"I wanted to give it to you that night." Sara said, interrupting his thoughts. "But you left earlier."

Grissom couldn't cope with the pain that these words brought.

"I thought you had a boyfriend." He said, and the words sounded like an accusation in his own ears. But it wasn't an accusation; it was a cop-out.

"Steve," Sara said with a little ironical smile, "Steve the cop." She sat down again, and for a moment, she seemed lost in thought. "He was a nice guy," she said after a while, "I liked him, but…we never _talked_ much. We never took walks or watched the stars in the sky; we never discussed books -"

All the things she had Gil had done together.

"I _tried_ to make it work," she said. "I even borrowed money to make that trip to Florida. But after I saw you that second time, I realized I'd rather be with you, even if we couldn't be more than friends."

She looked down at the spider bookmark, "I tried to give this to you on several occasions but I didn't think you'd understand."

"I'm sorry." He said. The words were grossly inadequate, and he knew it; no apology would suffice. Years had been wasted because of his actions. "I'm so sorry-"

She smiled reassuringly.

"Don't be," she said kindly. "Listen. I don't remember saying this to you before, but… I don't regret meeting you, Grissom. I swear. I learned a lot. I _grew up_."

Her smile wavered a little, and to cover up for this she impulsively picked up her mug and took a sip of tea. She grimaced at the taste.

"It's cold," she said. It was the perfect excuse for her to get up and go back to the kitchen.

Grissom looked at the bookmarks on the table. On a whim, he reached for the butterfly bookmark and put it next to the spider. After shuffling the pieces, he finally made them fit together, like pieces from a jigsaw puzzle. The butterfly's wings became an extension of the spider's web.

This was the way they should have always been, he realized. The bookmarks resting together on a night table, while their owners made love in a neighboring bed.

Grissom couldn't help wondering what life would have been like, had they exchanged these gifts all those years ago. He couldn't imagine asking her to move to Las Vegas to live with him, but what if he had? Would they still be together?

What if they'd simply become lovers, meeting once a year in San Francisco or at seminars all over the US, while Steve stayed at home, taking care of the kids? What if -

But it was too late for speculations.

Grissom suddenly realized that giving her the bookmark had accomplished nothing. He thought the gift would make her understand how he felt about her; that she'd be so moved by his offering, that she'd say something…

Instead, nothing had changed. She still wanted him to leave.

In despair, he looked around for inspiration and got none, but his gaze fell on the old CD player on the table. He turned it on and got a pleasant surprise.

'_Love, you didn't do right by me_

_As they say in the song you do me wrong-'_

That brought an immediate response from Sara.

"Turn it off, please."

"I know that song." Grissom said, "It's from an old Christmas movie, isn't it?"

"White Christmas." She said, "Please turn it off."

"I watched that movie so many times-" Grissom said wistfully, completely oblivious to her discomfort. "There were dancing numbers and songs- you know musicals, they don't say things, they _sing _them-"

"They're sappy." Sara retorted.

"Yeah, they are." He said, as if it were something positive, "You watch a movie like this one and you almost believe that life can be sweet and trouble-free."

"-And that's why people commit suicide more often during the holidays-" she retorted, "Reality sucks at Christmas time."

He looked curiously at her.

"You don't like the song?"

"The song's ok." She said, "I just don't want to hear it."

"Well, there are other songs," he said, selecting the next track. He didn't recognize the song. "There was a song in this movie…" he mused aloud. "Something about dancing-" and then to Sara's surprise, he actually sang, "_The best things happen when you're dancing…_" he smiled.

Sara looked away.

He looked back at the CD player.

"I used to watch White Christmas when I was a kid," Grissom said, and to him it sounded like a confession. "And it was like watching a science fiction movie: Completely unreal but fascinating. I used to wonder, who are this people? Do humans really feel like this for each other?"

He shook his head, "My parents didn't display much affection to each other or to anyone else, so-" he let the word trail off. He didn't really want to talk about them. This wasn't about them, anyway. It was about him and his inability to express his feelings.

He took a deep breath, "I guess I never had any faith in love," he said, almost to himself, "All I knew was that I'd better not get attached to anyone. So I didn't."

He looked in her direction. Sara was staring at the kitchen counter.

He rose from his chair.

"Do you still have faith in love, Sara?"

She didn't answer.

"I've done many unforgivable things in my life," he said, "but the worst would be to rob you of that faith. Don't let that happen."

She still wouldn't look at him or say anything. He didn't know what else to say, when suddenly, a new song began. A happy song, the one he'd been thinking of.

"_The best things happen when you're dancing_

_Things that you would not do at home_

_Come naturally on the floor_

_For dancing soon becomes romancing…"_

He looked at her.

It suddenly dawned on him, the fact that he could talk to death and nothing would change. The time for talking had passed; it was time to _do_ things. Something completely unexpected.

He took a few hesitant steps in her direction.

"You offered to teach me to dance, once." he said.

She rolled her eyes.

"Please, don't remind me." She said. "It was a silly thing to do."

She picked up her mug, despite the fact that it was empty. She rose it to her lips, anyway.

It effectively hid her face from him.

Grissom wasn't deterred by her reaction; he chose his next words with care.

"Would you teach me now?" He asked, and she almost dropped the mug.

Grissom gently took it from her and put it on the counter.

"I put my right arm around you, right?" he said as he did just that, "I take your right hand in my left hand…" he added, taking her hand despite her attempts to evade him, "And then -" he gently pressed his cheek against hers.

She turned her face away.

"You said this was a bad idea." she said.

"Yes, but I was being an ass." He said simply. "Come on. Tell me what to do," he pulled back a little in order to look at her. "You said this was easy."

She tentatively moved to the right, and she was surprised to feel him yield to her. She froze.

She didn't like this. Actually, she was afraid. She had spent these past months telling herself that she was over Gil. She could have sworn that she was. But now that he was there, so close… She wasn't so sure.

"This _is_ a bad idea." She said, uncomfortably.

"Definitely," he said cheerfully, "But I swear I'll do my best not to step on your feet."

This brought a reluctant smile to her lips. Encouraged by this, Grissom gently led her into a less cluttered area of the apartment.

He put his arm around her again and waited.

"Grissom -" she hesitated. "I don't -"

"Just one song," he said.

Resigned, Sara placed her arm on his shoulder and led him into a half-hearted dance.

_Even guys with two left feet_

"That's me." Grissom mumbled, as he followed Sara's steps.

_come out all right if the girl is sweet_

"That's true." Grissom whispered in her ear.

_When you hold a girl in your arms_

_That you've never held before-_

They stepped around hesitatingly, completely out of sync with the music. Sara wasn't cooperating, but Grissom was far from discouraged by this. He was smiling.

He glanced at her.

"You know…" he said, "I bet that with a little practice, I could out-dance that guy, Fred Astaire -"

"It wasn't Fred Astaire, it was Danny Kaye-" she said, and then cringed when she realized what she'd just said.

"Ah, ha," he said gleefully, "You watched the movie, didn't you," he looked at her, "And you liked it -"

"No, I didn't -"

"Yes, you did," he replied, enjoying her embarrassment, "In fact, you liked it so much that you even took notes -"

She was looking at him with an odd expression on her face, a mixture of hope and mistrust. She turned her face away, but not before Gil noticed. And the fact that he was finally able to read one expression of hers gave him hope.

He held her closer to him.

"Apples," he whispered.

"What?"

"You smell of apples." He explained.

"It's my shampoo." She said, a bit uncomfortable.

"You smell of flowers, too." He added softly, "It's _you_, isn't it?" he said, leaning a little closer, "It's not perfume, so it's got to be you." he added, "The scent is stronger in your neck." He said thoughtfully, "It feels stronger because you're flushing-

She pulled away.

"Why are you doing this?" she said, "You never took note of those things before -"

"I did," he replied. "I always did. I just never said anything." He pressed his cheek against hers again, "I never did anything but I wanted to. That day at the picnic, when you kissed me-"

"Talk about sappy things to do-" she said, almost angrily.

"It wasn't sappy-"

"Yes, it was." she said flatly, and she pulled back and looked at him as if daring him to contradict her.

Grissom almost smiled at that. Gently, he held her close again.

"Let's dance," He said gently.

They were silent for a moment.

"You've lost weight." He said suddenly. "You've been missing meals."

"I've been busy-"

"And there's no one here to remind you to take it easy." He said knowingly, "No Greg, Catherine, Warrick, or Nick -"

"Grissom-" She tried to pull away but he didn't let her.

The song ended, and they stood in the middle of the room. Grissom held her tightly.

"This is been hard on them, Sara." he said. "They miss you, back at the lab."

She shook her head. She wanted him to stop but couldn't say the words out loud.

"We miss you back home," he continued, "Sometimes one of the guys will look up and almost call out your name, as if you're there, sitting in the break room or waiting for a DNA result along with us. Sometimes one of them will say, 'Sara would have loved to see this' or, 'Sara would have known how to do this,' or 'Sara would have loved the dinner's new veggie menu.'"

"Even Doc Robbins got a little teary the other day," Gil continued, "'How's our girl doing?' he asked. And I didn't know what to say because you just cut me off from your life. No calls, no e-mails, no nothing."

"And I deserved it," he added, "But not them. Not the Doc, not Greg or Nick. They deserve to have their friend back –_you_ deserve to have your friends back."

He pulled back at her and looked into her eyes. She stared back, her lips pressed tight.

"Sara," he said softly, "If you're happy here, then say so and I'll go back and tell them." he gently touched her face, "But if you're not happy… if you miss them… If you ever wish you were sitting in the conference room, or just sharing a meal with them -"

She held on for just a few seconds, then she abruptly looked away.

"All right," she exhaled, as if she'd been holding her breath, "All right," she said again, more wearily this time. "I'll go back. Just -" she pulled away from him, "Just –stop."

Grissom was so surprised by her sudden capitulation that he let her go. Sara stepped away, as if she wanted to put as much distance between them as she could. But the room was too small; she was soon blocked by the wall.

She put a hand over her eyes.

"I miss them," she blurted out. "I miss my job, I miss everything -" She stopped abruptly; she took a deep breath, then another, until she calmed down. They stood like that for a while, Sara's breathing the only sound in the tiny apartment.

When she lowered her hand at last, he noticed that, contrary to what he'd first thought, she wasn't crying. She just didn't want him to look at her during a moment of weakness.

"I hate it in here," she admitted, "I've spent entire mornings telling my pupils about ethics and about the importance of preserving the evidence, and then they go to some jerk's class, and he undoes it all. They don't care about ethics or evidence here; politics mean more than anything -" she stopped.

She probably felt she'd said more than she intended.

She looked at him.

"Why did you have to come?" she said resentfully, "I would have made it work, somehow. I would have."

"We need you." Grissom said as sole explanation.

Sara looked away. She leant on the wall, as if she couldn't stand on her own. She was exhausted. Keeping her defenses up had taken every bit of energy from her.

After a brief silence, Grissom spoke again.

"I need you, too." he said softly.

She shook her head.

"You don't have to say that," she said.

"It's the truth." He said. When she shook her head again, he asked, "You don't believe me?"

She stared at him for a long time.

Her lips parted but she didn't say anything at first. She was evidently choosing her next words with care.

"I believe you," she said at last. It's just -" she hesitated.

Grissom braced himself. She was obviously trying not to hurt him, and this only made him more nervous.

"You've been sweet," she said. She smiled a little, "You've been charming. Funny. You even danced," she added, waving a hand in his direction. "And I'm sure that if we went out for a walk, you'd look at the sky and point at the stars."

She paused, and for a moment her eyes had a faraway look, as if she weren't looking at him, but at something cherished that only existed in her mind. Then she focused on him again.

"But the thing is," she continued, "You were like this when we met. And then, after I moved to Las Vegas, you slowly started to pull away."

He wanted to explain but before he found the appropriate words, she continued.

"I believe you missed me, Grissom," she said gently, "And I believe you'd try to do this, for my sake. But some things will never change. You'll never change. I mean, when I first saw you today, I was hoping you'd say that you missed me; that you'd missed me so much that you'd taken the first plane to Washington."

"But you didn't," she said, "Instead, you said you were here for a conference. But I keep track of every conference and every seminar, including the ones on Entomology -especially the ones on Entomology!- and I knew you were lying."

She wasn't angry or disappointed at him; she was simply stating the facts.

"You can't say it," she said. "And I know it will always be like this, Grissom. No matter how much you want this, you'll end up pulling away anyway. And I can't go through that again."

"It wouldn't be like that," he said.

She shook her head.

"Listen to me," she said, "This is our chance to make things right. You're my boss, and that's it. And it's ok," she said, "_I_ can live with that." She glanced around her tiny apartment, "It's better than this, I can tell you that," She said, and she smiled a little.

After a moment's hesitation, she reached for him and patted him on the shoulder. "We need to forget San Francisco," she said. "And the picnic. Act as if nothing happened, ever."

Her hand dropped. She looked at him for one last time, and then she turned away and closed her eyes. She was drained. She didn't even have the energy to say 'Please, go. Please, leave me alone,' but she hoped that he would take the hint.

When he finally moved, she thought he was walking to the door. But he wasn't. When he laid his hand on her shoulder, she practically jumped.

She looked up sharply. He was looking intensely at her.

"I don't want to forget." He said. "I can never forget. I remember every conversation we had in San Francisco. Every meal we shared, every discussion -" he paused. He'd never said this and it wasn't easy. The right words eluded him. "I've always felt the same -"

"Stop," she said abruptly. She rose a hand and placed it flat on his chest. She didn't push him away, but her gesture was eloquent.

He didn't stop.

"From the very start," he said, and now he was so close to her that he was practically whispering in her ear. "From the moment we met." He shook his head, because he didn't know how to explain this so she could understand. "I'd never felt anything like this before. I didn't know what to do about it. Even after you gave me chance after chance, I never thought I could do anything."

Sara looked away. She didn't want to listen, but she couldn't get away; he had her trapped against the wall just as she'd trapped him against a tree a few months before.

"Sara," he said, and since words failed him again, he leant forward until his lips brushed her cheek, her earlobe, her neck. His caresses were soft and tentative. He would only go as far as she wanted him to.

He was waiting for her reaction.

She was fighting with herself. Her mind was telling her to run and fast, but part of her refused to obey. She slowly turned to him. Her hand was still on his chest, but instead of acting like a barrier, it seemed to move in its own accord, instinctively reaching for his face and gently guiding him to the places where she craved his kisses the most.

They kissed tentatively, as if they were doing it for the first time. It was, in a sense.

Grissom pulled slightly back. He still wanted to say something to her.

"Sara -" he started.

She shook her head.

"Don't say anything." She said gently.

* * *

TBC 


	9. Happy Ending IV

JULY AND DECEMBER

DECEMBER 2004 –the morning after.

* * *

Sara stared at the clock on her bed side table. She had been staring at it, almost unblinkingly, since half an hour earlier. It was five O'clock now, and so far she'd already missed two of her early-morning activities: Jogging, and the first part of her kick-boxing class.

She checked off these and the rest without any regrets. She'd only signed on all those exercise programs to keep busy. At the end of the day, she was usually so exhausted that she fell asleep the minute she put her head on the pillow. It was a punishing routine that didn't leave her much time to brood.

Brooding was exactly what she was doing today; the alternative was to get up and do something, but she couldn't bring herself to move -not even with her right arm and leg growing numb from immobility. She was afraid that the slightest movement would wake up Grissom, and she just wasn't ready to face him yet.

She was aware of him, all the same; of his body, warm and solid next to her, and his breathing, even and almost imperceptible. The last time she'd looked at him, he was lying on his back, utterly relaxed and looking as if he was only meditating. She was tempted to ask him if he was asleep… but she didn't. She'd turned away instead.

And from that moment on, she lay in silence, watching the clock.

---

It was almost six when she decided not to go to work. It wasn't only out of deference to Grissom that she decided this; she knew she couldn't face anybody, least of all her colleagues. She couldn't go out and pretend nothing had changed.

Ironically, it was her decision not to go to work that prompted her to move. She couldn't just take a day off; she needed to make some arrangements.

As quietly as she could, she rolled out of bed. She winced a little when she stood up. She looked around for something to put on and found the blouse she'd worn the day before. On wobbly legs she walked around the room, picking the rest of her clothes, except those that were on Grissom's side. She put the clothes in a hamper that stood in a corner, and, after a moment's hesitation, went to the living room.

She picked up her phone and speed-dialed a number. She had to redial twice before she got a response. Diane wasn't an early-riser.

"Diane?" she said as soon as she heard a 'hello', "It's Sara -"

"Sara," Diane said the name as if it were a foreign word. She was not fully awake yet. "Sara." she repeated, and then there was a sharp intake of breath from, "Oh! Oh, hey," she said, more animatedly this time. "I was gonna call you last night! There was this rumor about a handsome guy dropping by to see you! Was it true?"

Sara didn't know what to say, but Diane didn't pause long enough to let her talk, anyway.

"The receptionist said a bearded guy brought a big box with gifts," Diane continued, "I didn't take her seriously. I mean, 'a bearded guy bearing gifts?' I was like, yeah, Santa Claus came to the FBI -ha, ha, _nice joke_. But then she said something about him being a doctor, and I started to wonder -"

Sara cringed. She couldn't believe FBI agents would gossip like this. And Diane's reaction was just unbelievable. The usually no-nonsense woman was acting like a bubbly teenager talking about boys.

"Diane," Sara said, interrupted at last, "Listen to me." She paused to make sure that she had Diane's complete attention. "I need you to do me a favor. I can't come to class today -"

"So you did have a visitor!" Diane raved, "And he's still there! Oh, wow. Who _is_ this guy?"

Sara soon cut into her colleague's girlish comments, "Diane," she said, "I need you to take over my classes for me."

Diane hesitated.

"Well… It's Friday -"

"Please." Sara said, though there was no pleading in her voice. She'd taken over Diane's classes several times in the past; Diane owed her. Sara only hoped Diane would not need a reminder.

"Oh, all right," Diane said reluctantly. "I'll take over." Her voice softened as she added, "You know, I'm glad this guy came to see you. It'll shut up some of the boys here. They act like they can screw every new recruit, and when someone refuses -"

"Diane." Sara interrupted. She already knew that the 'boys' didn't take it kindly when someone said 'no'. One of the men Sara rejected had started a rumor about her being a lesbian. Sara didn't care about being labeled one thing or another; she just didn't appreciate the attention it brought her.

"So, tell me." Diane said coyly, "Is he still there?"

"I'm not answering that," Sara replied firmly.

"You just did," Diane said, and she laughed out loud.

Sara hang up in exasperation but as she put the phone back on the table, she reluctantly realized she was going to miss Diane.

About Quantico, she was more ambivalent.

She'd certainly enjoyed teaching, even if the experience hadn't been entirely satisfactory. She'd tried hard to believe that with a little more time, her work would have made a difference. Now she realized that any victory she might have achieved in Quantico would have been a hollow one. Quantico was -and always would be- second best.

Las Vegas was far from perfect, but that's where she wanted to be.

She was going back.

She leant on the wall, needing the support as the realization hit her. Yes, she was going back. She'd made her decision and she didn't regret it, but she was nervous.

Grissom's reassurances notwithstanding, she knew better than to expect the rest of her colleagues to greet her with open arms. She knew she'd had to earn their trust all over again -be the new CSI in town, which meant getting the worst assignments until she proved herself worthy of their respect.

But that was easy -piece of cake, really -compared to the task awaiting her now.

She glanced into the darkened hallway. .

She and Grissom still had a lot to talk about. If this was going to work, then they needed to establish some boundaries. She took a step in her bedroom's direction, only to stop again.

She wasn't ready to face him yet.

The truth was, after last night, talking wasn't exactly foremost in her mind.

Her lips parted in a faint smile.

"Grissom," she whispered.

She closed her eyes as she remembered the events of the night before. Her lips parted again, but she didn't speak. She was reliving their lovemaking, and for a brief moment she imagined herself back in Grissom's arms. She remembered feeling cherished and loved -the sole object of Grissom's passion.

She sighed.

Did Grissom had any regrets about last night? The sudden thought took her by surprise. It was an unwelcome thought but she couldn't just dismiss it. She herself had one regret: She'd rushed Grissom last night.

On hindsight, she wished she'd acted differently; wished she knew him better. The thing is, he'd been hesitant with her the night before; he'd acted like a man who's having second thoughts and is going to bolt any time soon -or so she thought- and so she hurried things along.

She was impatient -or eager, or afraid, depending on how one wished to look at it. She just wanted to do it, _now _-before he changed his mind; before they ran out of time.

It was only later that she wondered if she'd misunderstood. Maybe Grissom simply liked it slow. Maybe he wasn't having second thoughts but was simply trying to take his time with her.

The thought filled her with remorse. She should have let Grissom be himself; she should have let him be sweet or gentle or whatever.

Instead, she'd acted as if this was just another hour-long encounter, the kind she'd experienced with Hank, the cheating rat. She never let Grissom show her how he truly felt.

And now it was probably too late.

---

Grissom woke up the minute Sara moved. She was considerate, and the bed dipped only slightly as she moved; but he'd slept alone for too long not to notice. He was instantly awake.

He didn't open his eyes, though; he didn't move. Instead, he waited, hoping that Sara was simply moving closer to him. He longed to feel her arms around him. He longed to gather _her _into his arms, but only if that's what she wanted. He needed her to make the first move. If she snuggled up to him, then everything would be all right. If she didn't -

She didn't.

He was disappointed when Sara left the bed. He debated between staying motionless or letting her know he was awake, and in the end he didn't move. Instead, he listened as she moved around the room, her bare feet not as noiseless as she might hope. He kept listening as she left the room but scrupulously stopped once she started talking to someone, presumably on the phone.

Not wanting to eavesdrop, Grissom turned his attention to the room, even though this made him just as uncomfortable. Sara was a private person and so was he. He couldn't imagine letting anybody alone in his bedroom. Doing this to Sara felt like an unforgivable intrusion.

He looked around, trying to see Sara's room through the eyes of a lover, not through the eyes of a scrutinizing CSI. It was impossible, of course. He couldn't help studying the room and analyzing its contents, and soon he found himself comparing Sara's bedroom -and her apartment itself -to Sara, the woman.

When you entered Sara's apartment, you got the impression that it was cold and impersonal place; but if you saw this room, you were immediately aware of softness and vulnerability. Sara was just like that; she rarely let people get close but those who had the privilege, knew how caring and warm she was under her reserved exterior.

Looking at her bedroom, Grissom had the feeling that she didn't let many people come in here -if any. This was her safe place; her refuge. It was here that Sara had added some personal touches: A couple of potted plants, an old teddy bear sitting on a shelf, a colorful shawl thrown over a lampshade, a couple of posters on the walls.

On a bedside table, a pretty desk lamp shared space with a couple of books (novels, not texts), a framed picture of a couple of kids (Sara and her brother?), and a box of condoms that had been unsealed but otherwise untouched until last night.

Grissom stared at the ceiling as he thought of last night's events.

Funny, he didn't recall walking to this room. After their first kiss, all he was aware of was her. She asked him not to speak and he obeyed; she took his hand and motioned him to follow, and he did.

He would have followed her anywhere.

He'd fantasized about that moment -he didn't have to deny it anymore. He'd dreamed of the moment he'd undress her, uncover her body -slowly, oh, so slowly. He'd dreamed of making love to her in such a way that it would make her forget every other man in her life.

He'd dreamed, yet he was realistic enough to know that first times were awkward. Last night when he came here, he vowed to make it good to her. He could only hope that the love he felt for her would make up for the clumsiness.

He wasn't sure of the outcome.

There was something desperate about their lovemaking, last night. Sara was impatient. He'd tried to slow down and be gentle for her sake but she wouldn't have any of this. In the end he followed her lead. It felt strangely impersonal; not the way he'd envisioned. Or maybe he had fantasized for too long and reality seemed less sweet.

He did recall a brief moment when he felt close to her, and not just physically. It was towards the end; she'd looked at him and whispered his name. And there was such tenderness, such sweetness in that single-syllable word, that he had no doubts whatsoever that she loved him.

Grissom smiled faintly when he remembered this. If only he were as eloquent with words as she was…

---

When Sara returned, she found Grissom sitting up in bed.

She stopped on the doorway.

"Hey," she said, with a smile that was a little forced, or so it seemed to Grissom.

"Hey." he said. He glanced up and down at her.

Sara was suddenly reminded that she was wearing only a blouse. It was too short. She felt vulnerable, exposed.

Her smile didn't waver, thought.

"You ok?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, smiling faintly. He was hoping she would hop into bed again, but she didn't. She leant against the doorframe, and Grissom had an eerie feeling of déjà vu. They'd faced each other like this before, at his office. She would lean on the doorway while he sat and looked up at her. All that was missing was the desk between them.

And, like so many times before, he didn't know what to say. They'd slept together, but it didn't seem like anything had changed. _He_ was happy, but he didn't know if she was happy too. Frankly, he didn't have a clue as to how she was feeling. And he didn't want to open his mouth and say something that would ruin things. He was waiting for her to say something -

And it was then that he realized that he'd always expected her to bear the burden of their relationship.

It didn't seem fair.

"Sara -" he started, but she was looking at the chest of drawers closest to him. There was a half-open drawer that got stuck a while ago and she'd never got around to fix.

She needed an excuse to turn away from his scrutiny, and this was it. She crossed the room and started to struggle with the drawer.

"It's an old chest," she explained.

"You need help?" he asked, half-rising from the bed.

"No," she said quickly. "No, it's ok. I just got to -" she let the word trail off. She leant forward, and now her hair was like a curtain that kept her face hidden from him.

"Sara -"

"Hang on," she interrupted.

She'd come back to the room to talk to Grissom but now she didn't want to. She was afraid of what Gil might want to say.

She was aware that Grissom was looking at her, waiting. She'd come back to the room determined to talk and to make plans, but now she couldn't even look at him.

She was afraid.

She knew that they'd been able to get together only because they were miles away from Las Vegas. Their encounter had the quality of a fantasy come true -wonderful but still a fantasy.

Who was to say that once they returned to Las Vegas they would not go back to their old roles? This was the reason behind her plea, the night before. When she said, 'don't say anything,' she was actually asking him not to make promises he would not be able to keep.

And now, she had the feeling that they would not even have to return to Las Vegas to know what lay in their future. Anything Grissom said today would determine their future. He might rise from the bed, look apologetically at her, and say something like, 'I have go back', and she wasn't ready to hear that.

"Sara."

Sara stopped struggling. She leant on the chest of drawers and took a deep breath.

"Sara," Grissom said again. "I, hum," he hesitated, "I have to go back -"

Sara closed her eyes and braced herself for the next words.

"-in three days." he finished.

Sara slowly turned to look at him.

He was looking expectantly at her.

"Maybe we could spend some time together," he added tentatively, "You know, after your classes."

She took a step in his direction.

"Three days?" she asked, not sure whether she'd heard correctly.

Grissom nodded.

"Three and a half, actually," he said, and he noticed how his words had an immediate effect on her. Her expression softened. Her whole body seemed to relax.

And then she smiled.

And suddenly, the doubts that had been plaguing him vanished. Because for the first time in a long time, she was giving him an authentic Sara smile -radiant and hopeful. The smile he'd almost forgot.

But as sudden as it appeared, it faded.

She frowned, "Didn't you say you had a seminar or a conference, or something you needed to go to?"

Grissom was about to confess that he'd lied, when he noticed the corners of her mouth lifting in a mischievous smile.

He rolled his eyes.

"Sure, rub it in," he said. He shrugged, "It was a lousy lie, I know."

"I'm glad you're a lousy liar," she said quietly.

Grissom stared at her as she came and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Three days?" she asked again.

"And a half," he added.

"Good." she said. "I, hum, could show you around. We could, you know, go somewhere -"

Grissom didn't reply. He reached out and after a moment's hesitation, touched her hair.

She shook her head self-consciously.

"It's a mess -" she admitted sheepishly. She'd hadn't brushed her hair since the day before.

Grissom smiled tenderly. Gently, he ran his fingers through her hair, brushing it away from her face. He wanted nothing more than to kiss her and get her into bed again, but he didn't do any of those things. He still didn't dare to take the first step.

Meanwhile, Sara was looking intensely at him, just like she did all those months ago, just before she kissed him. Only this time she didn't kiss him. Instead, she gently lay her hand on his bare skin. She caressed his neck, and his shoulder, and soon her eyes were following the progress of her fingers on him.

Her touch was hesitant; shy, almost.

These were the caresses she'd always wanted to bestow on him; she'd missed the chance the night before, but now she wanted to take her time to show him how she felt.

When she touched his bicep, she faltered a little. She looked up.

"You've been working out," she whispered, a touch of admiration in her tone.

"Some weight lifting," he said self-deprecatingly.

She kept her gaze on him. She was surprised by how strong he was -stronger than she'd ever suspected. Yet this wasn't his most important quality.

"You're a sweet man," she said softly.

Grissom gazed down. He didn't handle praise well, he never had. He didn't encourage it, and he mistrusted anyone who used it on him. But this was Sara, after all. He trusted her.

He looked up.

She was smiling faintly at him.

"I…" she started, "I think I've been unfair to you."

He frowned.

"Unfair?" he asked, "When?"

"All this time," she replied, "From the beginning, I think. I didn't -" she hesitated, "I didn't know then, and if someone had told me, I would have deny it. The thing is… I've expected things from you –things that I thought I needed."

"What things?" he asked softly.

She shrugged slightly.

"I wanted you to be like others," she said. "I forgot the one reason that made me fall in love with you –the fact that you're not like anyone else."

Grissom didn't really know what Sara was talking about.

"You're not like anyone else, either," he said mechanically.

"But I tried," she said, smiling faintly. "I tried and I failed."

She looked down. It wasn't often that she talked about her failed relationship with Hank.

Grissom leant forward to catch her attention.

"Sara…" he said, "The things you expected from me -"

She looked up.

"A relationship -" she said. "Friday night dates… A house with a white fence…" her cheeks colored a little as she spoke. It wasn't easy for her to admit that she'd wanted these. For years, she'd tried to explain to Grissom that all she wanted from him was his company; it wasn't true. Maybe Grissom had known all along, and that's why he never said yes.

"Sara," he said, "I wanted you to have those things," he said quietly, "But I just -" he gulped, "I just never thought _I_ could give them to you. I didn't…" He hesitated, "I've never…"

He shook his head, as if exasperated by his inability to explain. Then he looked at her. "I was afraid," he said at last. "I was afraid that if tried, I'd end up screwing things up between us. I've been alone for so long… I never made any space in my life for anybody," he admitted, "It's difficult for me to trust -"

"I know," she nodded, "I'm like that, too."

He gently took her face between his hands. He didn't immediately speak.

"I don't want to be afraid anymore," he said, although he looked like he still was.

"Me, neither," she said softly, and by the way she said it, it was clear that she was tired of being afraid. Tired of being alone, too.

He pulled her into his arms, then. Her body was warm and strong and curvy and oh, so desirable. Once again, he wondered how he'd managed to keep his hands off her all this time. He knew the answer of course: he'd been afraid that by laying a hand on her, she would somehow disappear from his life.

The irony was that by not laying a hand on her, she had disappeared anyway.

"I don't want to lose you again," he whispered, tightening his hold on her.

"You won't lose me," She said, "Listen," she added, pulling back to look at him. "Let's be friends, no matter what." She paused, letting those words sink in. When he nodded his consent, she continued in a softer tone, "We have something special, you and me. It's not what other people have, but it's good anyway."

"Yes," he said.

"We have a deep respect for who we are and what we do," she said, "I mean, I love you, but I love my job too. And I know you feel the same."

He smiled faintly. Only Sara would put their love for each other and their love for their jobs in the same line. But that's the way it was, and it was good to be realistic.

"We won't let one love interfere with the other," he said.

He looked closely at her. With her face devoid of make-up, she looked younger and vulnerable.

"You're beautiful," he whispered.

She smiled uncomfortably and glanced away. She was blushing.

She didn't take compliments well, either

"_And_ you have good legs, too," Grissom added, enjoying the effect his words had on her.

She rolled her eyes, making light of her embarrassment.

"Flattery will get you anywhere," she said.

"I'm counting on that," he said. After a moment's hesitation, he lay her down on her back. He looked down, reveling on the sight of Sara, smiling openly at him, her body yielding to his.

He was about to kiss her, when something made him pause.

"Don't you have to go to work?" he frowned.

She couldn't believe he would think of her job at that moment, when she realized he was only teasing her.

"A friend of mine's taking over my classes," she said, "I told her I need three days to recover from the strenuous exercise I've been doing" she added, and she pointedly wrapped her long legs around him.

"What if your boss insists on having you drop by for a check up?"

She shrugged.

"I'll just tell them Dr. Grissom is taking care of me."

He smiled.

"I'll try," he said. Then his smile faded and he added, "I will, Sara."

She held him tightly. She knew they were both scared about the future. They knew only too well, that love wasn't always enough…

"We'll work it out," she said in his ear.

* * *

TBC

Next: A brief look into the future.


End file.
